


The Long Con

by Liquid_Lyrium



Series: To Walk a Crooked Mile [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Flirting on the comms, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, M/M, Mission Fic, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Past Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Past Relationship(s), Sentai Genji Shimada, Slow Burn, Undercover Missions, former gency, past gency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2018-12-03 20:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: Overwatch suspects a smuggling ring is using an anime convention to illegally smuggle omnic parts and goes undercover to investigate.





	1. Chapter 1

**[April 13, 2074]**

_“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”_

Hanzo’s voice had a tinny, robotic edge through the comm, making him sound more like his brother than either would care to admit.

Genji just laughed, waving cheerily at a crowd of convention goers who stopped to point and shriek at his “costume.” He pressed a finger to his ear and held up the white in-line microphone wire dangling in front of his neck, as if he were having difficulty hearing the person on the other end of the line due to shitty, overloaded cell towers.

As if he didn’t have a high-grade, highly-encrypted, secret military communication device with its own channel and sub-channels implanted directly into his skull.

“How can you say that after sharing a childhood with me?” The synthesizers in his throat did nothing to conceal his amusement.

_“Do not change the subject. This was a terrible idea. There are too many people here.”_

“Oh my gosh, can I take a picture with you!? I loved that show as a kid!” A young woman dressed in a vaguely shrine-maiden inspired outfit and animal ears approached him, handing her phone to her friend—a blue haired youth in a black hoodie with some anime character on the breast.

Genji flashed her a peace sign, grinning as he stood next to her. “The Steel Senshi goes wherever he is needed.” The iconic catchphrase wasn’t a message intended for her.

_“Are you letting them take your picture!?”_

Genji chuckled again and gave a short wave to the girl and her friend as he continued down the crowded convention hall. “Relax, I blend in perfectly here.” _Let me have this_ , he held the angry thought in his head, didn’t let it spill over into the comm.

A tiny part of him enjoyed this.

Not just for the atmosphere, for the fun and festivities, for the shows he had loved growing up, and not even for pissing off Hanzo.

Not entirely, anyway.

The part of him that had made great strides towards inner peace disapproved, but the ghost of the person he used to be revelled in all of this.

Being the center of attention when he walked into a room, being instantly popular—yet unassuming enough that no one ever suspected how dangerous he truly was. Green hair traded for a green visor, a convention floor for a nightclub. Genji was in his element again. In a way he hadn’t been in _years_.

The ghost of that playboy raised to inherit a yakuza empire loved every single moment of this—and Genji of the present didn’t feel like a freak out among real people. It was both wonderful and painful at the same time. A pull at old wounds wrapped in carbon and metal.

 _“Not that this brotherly bickering ain’t a touching sign of how much progress ya’ll have made, maybe we should keep it down to a minimum on the main channel, yeah?”_ McCree’s familiar drawl interrupted the conversation, before Hanzo had a chance to respond.

Before it had a chance to turn sour.

“Fine by me. Can I come by the booth yet to pick up my order yet?”

_“Whenever yer ready Solo Senshi Ranger Guy.”_

Genji gasped aloud and placed a hand on his palm as though wounded, “Are you telling me you never watched the Steel Senshi as a child!?”

_“Lookit you, all fancy with having a TV in yer house growing up.”_

“I know you had a television. You have told me you had one. It’s an American law isn’t it? You can’t have a house without at least one.”

_“Get a move on already or I’ll sell your damn sword to the next twelve year old that shows up.”_

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The next voice on the line had a distinctive Scandinavian lilt, _“So are we, or are we not, leaving the comm line free of bickering?”_

\----

Hanzo’s bridge piercing had healed enough he could pinch his nose without any soreness.

“This was a terrible idea,” he reiterated, off the comms to Jesse.

“C’mon, buck up. We got this. Maybe we’ll even find time to catch part of that kung-fu marathon in auditorium 1E later.” Jesse was lifting down a fresh box of replica swords from the top shelf to replace their missing stock.

“And leave my brother as the only one to find the Limited Edition Legendary Lost Episodes of Shinobi Sakura Dreams? I think not.”

“C’mon, if anyone can find ‘em, it’ll be Genki.”

 _The Limited Edition Legendary Lost Episodes of Shinobi Sakura Dreams_ , was, of course, the code name for their target.

Somewhere, in all of this, was a merchant selling off illegal weapons and omnic parts disguised as cosplay props. It was ingenious.

It was also how they smuggled in Genji’s very real—if outlandish-looking and LED-infused weaponry. There was a special “pre-ordered” purchase under the table waiting for pickup from one Genki Shimizu.

Jesse and Hanzo were the proprietors of a little booth called “East Meets West.” An independent little labor of love built from the ground up. Started online doing props and replicas for friends and acquaintances over the net. Then they started up an online business proper, with a website and everything. Now they were seeing if they could make a real go of it selling merchandise in-person at shows.

McCree couldn’t help but grin as Hanzo brushed the back of his freshly buzzed undercut again. Despite the fact that the man would don traditional garb _on duty_ , he steadfastly refused it _undercover_. Or anything that could potentially be mistaken for cosplay. The only concession he’d made to his usual attire were his leg guards and claw-toed boots. Just in case he needed to climb something in a hurry.

“He’s late,” Hanzo’s fingers tapped the table in irritation.

“He’s prolly just taking more pics with people. Don’t frown like that.”

Hanzo arched a brow and looked up at Jesse as the man started opening the box, “Worried I’ll scare away potential customers?”

“Worse than that. Gonna get wrinkles on that pretty face,” Jesse nodded so solemnly with this proclamation Hanzo couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.

“Ridiculous.” His gaze drifted away from the cowboy and over the crowd, turning his face in an attempt to hide his smile.

Jesse McCree tried to ignore it.

That kind of smile could _ruin_ a man.

McCree grabbed another box down from the makeshift shelves and mumbled under his breath—a bad habit from working alone too long that he _desperately_ needed to break—“Chicken legs and chicken shit... What a pair we make, huh?”

\----

Genki, was enjoying himself.

“Hey man! Where’d you get that sick armor!? You make it yourself or what?”

“I have a friend who runs a small minifacturing outfit. All kinds of 3D printing. I was able to convince him to do some metal printing for this.”

 _“Don’t demean my work like this,”_ Torbjörn complained bitterly in Genji’s ear.

“I’m so jealous dude! Does he take requests or what? Like can I pay him to print out some armor?”

“It was pretty difficult to convince him to do this for me. He owed me some pretty big favors, however. I’ll tell him you’re interested. Maybe if enough people here ask me, he’ll consider a side business.”

 _“Inte för allt smör i hela Småland.”_ Genji was a _little_ grateful his shit-eating grin was completely concealed from view.

“Man I’m _so_ jealous! You entering any contests?”

“I had not decided yet. There’s just so much to do here. Right now I need to go do some shopping.” He lifted a mostly-empty tote bag by way of explanation and escape.

\----

“The Steel Senshi goes wherever he is needed.”

“Man, how did you get the voice filter thing to work? That’s so awesome!”

“Video tutorial online. Buddy of mine is into sound-mixing and wants to be a DJ someday. Helped me work out the bugs. Just look for: ‘Vocoder voice mixer cosplay’ and look at the video results.”

“ _¡Qué cabrón! Am I hearing this? Genji, are you trying to make me hate you forever? I just finished populating the corporate reviews for the website for Torbjörn’s minifacturing business.”_ The newest Overwatch recruit, callsign _Morado_ , was speaking to him via a private channel, not through the main shared line, her irritation sticking like a burr in his ear. He could hear the faint whirring of her hard-light console through the comm as well.

“I’m not seeing a lot here…”

_“You’re making a lot of work for me here, pendejo. I’m good, but I can’t just produce a video out of thin air. It has to be made first!”_

“The one I used might not be there anymore. I heard the guy got caught using some proprietary sound tech in the video, so the site had to take the video down.”

“Aw man that sucks.. you sure?”

_“Alright. That’s more like it. When I finish this and get this thing posted I’m gonna go tell Lucio he’s just an aspiring DJ in your eyes. Hope he gives it to you good when you get back, capullo!”_

“Crap, there it is… ‘video was removed due to content violation…’ I hope there’s a copy of it somewhere else…”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

_“Seriously though, you keep making more work for me like this, and I’m gonna get Athena to help me remote access your fucking cyborg body and make you dance so dirty on the nearest contest stage your mama will cry in her grave.”_

\----

“Wow a Midori-era Steel Senshi costume!”

Genji flashed a peace sign to his latest admirer, she looked to be a young woman in her twenties, her accent placed her origins somewhere on the British Isles, but he wasn’t sure where precisely. Her hair was a bright magenta, and she had some sort of sculpted brown uniform on, with blue slashes peeking through. There was some sort of semi-articulated armor plating above what looked like a leather bodysuit with faint pinstripes on the pants. There was a combat utility belt around her waist with a modernized blunderbuss hanging prominently off one hip. Perched on her head were a pair of purely decorative blue-tinted goggles. He had no idea who she was meant to be, but it was clear a lot of effort and detail had gone into her apparel.

“Impressive! Not many people your age know the Steel Senshi—from any of the eras.”

“I know some people think the Midori-era was kind of off the rails, and it definitely jumped forward technologically by several hundred years.. but I think some anachronism is fine for a kid’s show. I mean it’s not technically set in our world anyway, right? Plus there was canonical time travel… of a sort. The Aoi-era is definitely my favorite tho! I saw an Aoi-era Sinister Shogun walking around here earlier! I thought I was gonna die!”

Genji tipped his head curiously. “The Sinister Shogun…?”

“That was how they translated it in English. I think it’s actually uh… fuck I can never remember how to say it. But y’know… it’s the big bad guy he fights at the end of the season. “

“Wait, do you mean the main villain? Danzo Oyakata-sama? But he’s a daimyo! That’s a completely different rank! What a terrible localization…”

“They’re talking about releasing a new edition, with some better dubs and subs. Truer to the original. I hope it happens.”

The smart remark he wanted to make died as he saw her hands twist nervously.

“…Hey, how do you know so much about this show anyway? No offense, but you’re a little young to have watched it during the original run.”

Her smile told him that it used to be a happy memory, and now it only reminded her of something lost. It was a smile he saw too often in his brother, himself, his friends.

“I’d watch it with my brother all the time. He was a big fan…. Watched the original run, even tried to teach himself a bit of Japanese so he could watch it without subtitles…. Last time we watched it… he was in the hospital. We made it all the way through the Aoi-era but we.. he… didn’t make it all the way through the Shiro-era.”

_This really was a terrible idea._

“I used to make my brother play the bad guy… I guess you’d call him the Sinister Shogun?” Genji couldn’t just leave something like that spoken without giving something in return.

“Really?” The sadness melted away just a little bit, “Older or younger?”

“Older, of course. His name rhymed so, naturally, as a child I would insist he had to be the evil Oyakata-sama.”

The silence on the comms felt as deep as the gulf of ten years.

Genji wondered, for a moment, if Hanzo had pulled his communicator out of his ear.

“He ever complain?”

“Sometimes, he thought it was childish… but it made practicing martial arts more fun for me, so he did it anyway. Even though I made him be the villain…”

“A lot?”

“Not _always…_ but a lot, yes. Whenever we weren’t playing at being brothers-in-arms.” And for a fleeting moment Genji wondered if maybe they shouldn’t have practiced fighting as mortal enemies so much as children...

“Is he here?”

“No. He hates these things,” Genki lied easily, shrugging as if he didn’t care. “Too many people. Too frivolous.”

He needed to get going.

He needed to leave.

He needed to stop spilling childhood secrets to a stranger while his entire fucking team could hear on the commline.

“Hey, do you wanna grab something to eat? I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast and I’m totally starving, but I’d love to continue our conversation…”

_Fuck._

The comm was deafeningly silent again, but Genji could hear the unspoken words all the same:

_‘You need to get out of there.’_

_‘Don’t be a douche.’_

_‘Remember the mission.’_

_‘Don’t get sidetracked. No distractions.’_

_‘Stay alert, don’t get a civilian caught in the crossfire.’_

_‘She could be involved.’_

“Hey.. what’s that in your bag?” His eyes had been casting about for an excuse, and found one rather unexpectedly in the swag bag at her side.

“Mm? Oh this? It’s a replica from _Eye of the Omnic!_ Check it out!” She pulled out a clear, slightly oblong orb. It had an angry magenta iris inside, surrounding a deep central pit of nanocircuits packed so deep and tight it looked like a pupil. It gleamed almost like a gem beneath the clear coating sealing the Omnic core inside.

“Ma.. it looks so real,” he turned it over slowly in his hands trying not to grow tense as his visor told him this was made from genuine materials. “Like it could come alive at any moment…”

“I know isn’t it amazing!? I mean, wouldn’t do much good without a body to go with it, right? But still…”

 _“Hmm.. definitely the real deal, but whether it’s going to come alive? I can’t say… wait! Turn it sideways a bit. There along the seam!”_ Genji turned it slowly, so the video feed he was broadcasting back to the base could pick it up. He put it comically close to his face—as though trying to see through his visor.

“So where did you get this? It’s fine quality. Did they have anything else there?”

“Ah jeez, I don’t remember. They did have other stuff though. It was on one of the merchant floors… obviously. Um… there was a big kaiju nearby. I dunno which one tho. But like maybe… eight..? Ten feet tall?”

 _“Looks like a transmitter has been embedded along the seam. Teeny tiny little thing. You hold onto it for 45 more seconds and I can see if it has any goodies.”_ More whirring and humming from a purple, hard-light console.

Genji held the eye up to the lights, as if admiring the translucency, “I mean it’s eerie. Do you think they stole it from the movie set..?” He dropped his arm suddenly and held a hand up in front of his hidden mouth with an audible gasp—little more than a hiss of static—”Or do you think they stole it from a real omnium!?”

 _“From the data I’m getting it looks like Baotou omnium parts, but more advanced than what we previously have on record,”_ Torbjörn’s voice sounded mildly concerned. Baotou had been under control for years. One of the first real victories of the old Overwatch.

 _“So are you saying there’s Mongolian barbecue in our future?”_ McCree, thinking with his stomach as usual.

The young woman laughed and shook her head, “It’s just a toy.. Nothing more.” She held her hand out for her purchase again.

“Pity you don’t remember where you got this… I wouldn’t mind having one for myself.” Genji handed it over as slowly as possible, the edge of his metal-plated thumb crushing the transmitter along the otherwise perfect seam of industrial-grade glass. Just a factory defect now. A place where there was a pooling of materials where the mold was pieced together.

_“¡Joder! I almost had that you little... Well it was definitely sending out a low frequency signal. Might be what got those puppies through security. Maybe to trip the RFID signals? Might have been waiting to receive a signal to trigger something. But I guess we won’t know until we find the booth at this point.”_

“So you remember the Kaiju… but you don’t remember which wing it was you found this?”

“Sorry no… It was like dark navy or green though. The Kaiju. Oh! And there was a pretty big punk stall nearby. Took up maybe four stalls worth of space, yeah? All types of punk. Steam, solar, stone, scrap... Only don't let anyone know I called it scrap punk. Big debate right now in the community is it should be scrap punk or junk punk.” Genji had no idea what stonepunk was and for a moment he felt old and wildly out of touch. Then he remembered he’d spent a good portion of the last several years sequestered away in a monastery in Nepal, so perhaps that was to be expected.

“Thanks, l will keep an eye out for it. Tell you what, I’ll walk with you until we reach the next food vendor, then I’ll have to be on my way. The Steel Senshi has a new quest!”

The young woman laughed.

“By the way.. My name is Emily,” she grinned at him shyly, and he suddenly realized she had freckles speckling her cheeks. Her makeup and his visor had made them almost invisible up until now.

Genki smiled and took Emily’s number and added it to his fake phone when they parted ways. They even exchanged social media tags as well. (Something they had actually prepared for, so there was no Spanish grumbling in his ear.)

As soon as her magenta hair was out of sight, Genji broke the silence on the comms. “Hey, we need eyes on this girl. She’s got one of the _Limited Edition Legendary Lost Episodes of Shinobi Sakura Dreams_ on her.”

_“We ain’t got anyone else handy…”_

_“Cheers luvs, the cavalry's here! You gimme coordinates, and I’ll watch over our girl, yeah?”_

Genji wasn’t sure how to feel about this new development. “Aren’t you supposed to wait by the car?” ‘ _In case we need a quick getaway or suppressing fire from a dropship?’_ went unspoken.

_“Pish posh, I can remote start the engine on our ride out of here if really necessary.”_

“Fine. She’s headed towards…. Looks like she’s headed towards meeting room 23B on level C.”

_“Right, be there in a flash! You go get your toys luv!”_

\----

Genji was about halfway to East Meets West when he heard a gasp in his ear.

_“Genji Shimada you bloody arsehole!! Why didn't you tell me she was dressed as Peggy Cochrane!?”_

“Who?”

_“How can you not know this!? Captain of the Queen Anne’s Violet? Only the most fearsome sky pirate that ever flew the Gulfstream!? With her mostly lady crew!? Think ‘Lady Horatio Hornblower’ only set in the future instead of the Napoleonic wars. And in the sky instead of on water. And she’s a pirate not part of the royal navy. And a lesbian.”_

“I… see?”

 _“Look, it’s a great show alright? It’s fan-friggin-tastic and don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise!”_ This was said in such a highly defensive tone, Genji had no choice but to conclude that the show itself was utter trash, but it was clearly important to Lena.

“Okay. I believe you. I never watched it myself…So...My apologies for not recognizing your childhood hero?”

 _“That show is the entire reason I figured out I liked girls alright?”_ There was a faint note of anguish in Lena’s voice—perhaps discomfort upon remembering days of being less self-aware?

“So go tell her that?”

_“What? Are you mental? Just go up to a complete, perfect—and might I add lovely—stranger and say ‘Hi you’re dressed as my favorite lesbian heroine from childhood who helped me come to terms with my identity?’”_

Genji felt a smirk press against his faceplate, “It could hardly be the most inappropriate thing said to a stranger in this venue.”

 _“I hate you,”_ the words were tight and clipped. _“I’ll.. I’ll think of… of something.”_

“Don’t forget… she has one of the Lost episodes on her. You gotta look out for your hero, right?”

 _“Ugggh..! You little… Fine! I’ll do it. Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me she was cute!?”_ Genji laughed at the plaintive little wail in his ear.

 _“Go knock her dead sweetpea. You got this,”_ there was a clicking noise, and Genji could picture Jesse making finger guns. _“Bullseye.”_

“Just talk about… whatever show your gay pirate captain is from. She liked talking about the Steel Senshi enough. She’d probably talk to you for hours about the character she dressed up as.”

 _“Consider it part of your mission, soldier. You have your orders: Engage the subject.”_ Genji shook with silent laughter at Hanzo's addition, but it served well enough that Tracer got it together.

_“Right. Part of the mission. Gotcha. Here I go—!”_

_“Shame we gotta keep main channel clear,”_ McCree drawled lazily. _“I’d give up this fine replica of Ranse Stoddard’s gun to listen in on that.”_

 _“Genji, when are you going to get here? McCree has already picked out several pre-teens who might be interested in a certain pre-order if it remains uncollected.”_ It was admirable the way Hanzo was trying to keep them all on task and focused on the main line. Then again, Hanzo _was_ their field commander for this little venture. Genji felt a little bit of pride as he considered that point. His brother had come so far since formally joining Overwatch eighteen months ago.

“I’m on my way, there’s a bit of a crowd to get through. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

\----

Jesse was in the middle of regaling a customer with a fine yarn when Genki finally approached their little stall. “—Joint task force between the good ol’ navy and the Japanese Martime Self-Defense Force. Patrolling southern waters mostly and military bases in the Pacific. Lots of pirate activity at the time. Exciting days, eh Heizo?”

“I seem to recall someone spent the majority of their free time—and time on duty—sunbathing. Hardly exciting,” a sideways sweep of dark eyes ran up and down the cowboy.

“Ooh! Right in the heart,” McCree clutched his metal hand against his chest as if mortally wounded. Even through his tinted visor, Genji caught the flush on Jesse’s cheeks. “Nice to see your aim’s stayed sharper than my ma’s best kitchen knife even in retirement.”

“You are mistaken. I was aiming for somewhere far more personal, my aim is clearly lacking… or the target it too small,” the very corners of Heizo’s mouth flicked upwards in the briefest of smiles, as if sharing a private joke with the co-owner of his little business. The customer standing at the counter giggled a bit.

McCree sucked in a sharp breath, “Damn hon, why you gotta be so vicious? Just go for the jugular and put me outta this misery already.” McCree held out a vicious-looking (but completely dull) replica of a tanto.

“You would not be here if you did not enjoy it. Besides, you were the one who—as you say—’ _roped me into this_.’ I will not allow you to abandon me to do this alone, ” Heizo crossed his arms, leaning back ever so slightly to look up at McCree from where he was seated.

“Too late, sugar. You done gone and killed me already. G’bye cruel world!” With that McCree turned the blade to his own stomach and then dramatically collapsed to the floor.

Heizo lifted a brow, and leaned over slightly to look at McCree. “You’re supposed to slash across the belly. And there’s a ritual that goes with seppuku.”

“You never let me have any fun,” came the voice from the floor. A metal hand was seen on the counter before Jesse followed, pulling himself back up to his feet, finishing the transaction with the previous customer as Genki strolled up.

Neither proprietor of East Meets West showed any sign of recognition at his approach.

“Excuse me,” Genki said, bowing slightly. “I had ordered something online to pick up?”

“Name?” Heizo pulled out a clipboard, and said the word with an air of long-suffering boredom and efficiency.

“Genki Shimizu, pre-paid online. I have a receipt if you need it.”

“If you would be so kind,” Heizo held out his hand expectantly.

Genki rooted around in his rucksack, “It’s here hang on…. So you two met up in the force huh? How many years ago was that?”

“Five,” Heizo answered the question tersely, remembering his cover story admirably, his cheeks staining pink. “Though sometimes it feels like far longer,” it was a comment meant to be scathing, but it sounded soft and unsure. It amused Genji that his brother hadn’t anticipated this possibility. That Genki might speak to Heizo. He gave Jesse the barest glance behind his visor before going in for the kill.

“You two make a cute couple,” McCree owed him for this. _I own you McCree._ Far from being grateful, however, Jesse protested even louder than Heizo.

“I—! That is not.. The nature… of our relationship..” Heizo had gone from cherry blossom pink to fiery red.

“Woah there pal, uh you done got the wrong impression here. Ain’t nothing like that going on. We’re jes’ good buddies bonded on the battlefield yeah?”

“Oh? Do excuse me. I would have sworn you two were an item the way you were acting,” Genki’s voice was full of Genji’s amusement.

The two spoke over each other again.

“Y-yeah lots of folk make the same mistake—”

“You are the first one to make that assertion—”

Genji laughed. “My apologies. It's just there's so much _chemistry_. I suppose it's just the familiarity of two old friends.”

The next words Heizo spoke were in heated Japanese, « _Are you out of your mind? How dare you suggest such a thing—»_

“I'm sorry, my Japanese isn't that good anymore. I only spoke it as a child, I don't understand you,” he was enjoying this far too much. He was pretty sure both men could see the grin splitting his face beneath the mask.

Heizo was glaring daggers at Genki. While Genji was _fairly_ certain Hanzo would never harm him again, he couldn't be so sure about Heizo and Genki—two strangers unrelated by blood and a bloody history.

It was McCree however, that caused Genji to relent. The poor man looked like someone had shot his dog with his own beloved Peacekeeper. So Genji reined in his next round of teasing comments.

Heizo all but slammed Genki’s pre-order on the table. “Please take this with our compliments and thank you for your business.”

“Maa, thank you very much. Apologies again for my behavior.” Genki slipped the box under his arm.

“None necessary,” Heizo spoke through tight lips and tighter teeth.

“I don't suppose you'd be willing to spare a moment to assist me with putting these on? Limited mobility,” He gestured helplessly to his own armored body.

He could see the instant refusal Hanzo was about to spit at him before the other man remembered it was part of the mission. At the last second he turned his head sharply to gaze at Jesse. “Jace. Please help our client.” The way Hanzo ground out McCree’s undercover handle in anger made it almost sound like his real name.

“Sure thing head Han-cho.” Genji smirked a bit. He knew Jesse had been hanging onto that one for a long time. Too long to resist, even while undercover. It was innocuous enough, Genji supposed, under the circumstances. Jesse looked away quickly at Heizo’s frown, clearing his throat. “Reckon my legs could do with a stretch anyhow.” Jace clambered over the side of their little booth and followed Genki.

It was a shame, Genji thought to himself as they walked away, that Jesse was too mortified to look back at East Meets West.

He might have seen the way Hanzo watched them go, like the sun had just been stolen from the sky.

\----

In the end, Tracer had more or less taken Genji’s advice.

She had approached Emily, gushing about the costume, and then the show, and then Peggy Chochrane herself.

And there was the requisite teasing Emily for being Welsh, but truthfully, Lena was more than willing to forgive her for that. (It wasn't like she _really_ cared anyway.) And there was a bit of commonality there, two strangers abroad from the UK, what were the chances? She introduced herself as _Tracer_ , since her callsign had never been leaked to the public. It was probably still a mistake, but really who could blame her?

Lena was tongue-tied. Thankfully, Emily talked enough for both of them.

Currently she was gushing about Peggy Cochrane and her first mate, and the kiss they shared on the prow of their airship, and how it had been a transformative experience for her as a viewer.

Lena tried not to get ideas about laying Emily down on the hood of the Orca and pressing their hands together while sharing a gentle kiss. It didn’t help that she wasn’t quite certain what Emily looked like when she _wasn’t_ dressed as one of her childhood crushes and heroines.

“You really know your stuff,” Tracer finally managed to say, proud of herself for having that much of a sentence put together.

“Well.. you know,” Emily laughed and brushed the back of her pink hair. “I mean.. If we want to talk lesbian heroes… Lena Oxton.” She flashed Tracer a rather _meaningful_ sort of smile.

“What?” Tracer felt her pulse race. _Shit shit shitshitshit._

“Now that’s a _real_ hero! I mean, I know Overwatch is..was? I guess it still _is_ popular, but it does throw me sometimes when I see cosplay of real people at events like this. But they really are larger than life, aren’t they? Like superheroes some of the things they all did.”

It took Lena several moments to realize that she hadn’t been made. “Oh yeah, well... You know. They just… did so much good in the world! And then they were just thrown away. Like there was nothing good left to them.” She didn’t need to fake the slump to her shoulders or the way the PETRAS act made her feel. “I mean, think about King’s Row!”

“No one really knows what happened there, though, do they?” Emily mused thoughtfully. “I know they were involved and there’s rumors and grainy footage on the net but…” She shrugged, and Tracer wanted to die.

How did Jesse make going undercover look so easy when she was making such a stupid, obvious mistake? She had never run an undercover mission in the old days, but she’d been given basic training in them.

“I know!” Tracer hated the way her voice squeaked, and how idealistic she sounded. She must have sounded so fucking _clueless_ to Emily. Like she hadn’t seen firsthand how the world really worked. “But they were there and when they left the conflict was over. I… I was there.. At the time. I was studying in London. I remember being so scared…” Her voice shook a bit. She _had_ been scared that night. Her first real mission. And it had lasted for _days_. “I saw… some things. Not a lot, mind you, but I did _see_. I know who saved us back then, alright?” And she smiled weakly at Emily, and she hated the way lying made her feel. _It’s not exactly a lie right? I mean… That’s all true._

“Oh god… I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” gentle fingertips touched Lena’s cheek and she suddenly felt _hollow_ realizing how long it’d been since someone had touched her like that. She leaned into that touch, until she felt Emily’s palm cupping her cheek.

“It’s okay… it happened a long time ago, but… You know,” Tracer smiled helplessly.

“You must have been very brave back then.” Emily flicked her eyes downward to the blue glow of the chronal accelerator that Lena Oxton was famous for. “You know Tracer, this… this is incredible, did you do it yourself? I thought my armor was pretty good but this…” She placed her hand on the accelerator and Tracer wondered if this was the worst idea they’d ever had. “This is _amazing._ ” Emily laughed, “Wow, it tickles, how much power do you have running through this?”

“Uh, probably too much,” Lena laughed nervously and delicately picked up Emily’s hand and removed it from her accelerator, letting it go swiftly.

“You make it yourself?”

“No, no. Friend of mine cooked it up for me. He's brilliant.”

“So what did you study while you were in London?”

“Flying,” the word slipped out before Tracer could think of anything better or less like herself.

“Oh yeah? You a pilot? Guess I shouldn't be surprised given your taste in heroes,” Emily teased her lightly with a slight shoulder bump as she fell into place beside Lena.

“N-no! Tried that, didn't take. I uh, I studied physics. The physics of flying. Turns out I have a fear of heights.”

The other woman stared at Lena incredulously for a long moment. And once again, Tracer thought she'd been made, but then Emily burst out into giggles, and then full-belly laughs.

Lena joined her soon after, and both of them lost it when Emily snorted and they had to lean on each other for support, muscles weakened by glee.

\----

Jesse rounded on him as soon as they entered a room designated for cosplay repairs.

 _“The fuck was that Genji?”_ McCree was certain to turn off his communicator before speaking, and he made sure the cyborg wasn’t on the main channel anymore. Genji wasn’t _cruel._ He didn’t dare broadcast this conversation where anyone could hear. Well, apart from Athena. She was always listening.

Genji lowered his voice to match Jesse’s, “I thought I was being helpful.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.

There was a frustrated growl and McCree took out his feelings on the box holding his weaponry. “Next time you feel like helping like that— _don’t._ I mean it,” the man’s mouth was pressed into a tight line. Genji hadn’t seen the man so upset in years.

“Since when do you object to me being your wingman?” There was a bit of genuine confusion to the question. In Blackwatch days it had been commonplace for one to help the other win a conquest.

And a lifetime ago sometimes, _sometimes_ , Genji had tried to help his brother in the same way.

“Since _now,”_ The way Jesse pulled out the katana Genji wouldn’t have been surprised to find it unsheathed. It was still in the scabbard, however, and Jesse started clipping it into place. “S’a delicate situation. Don’t need _outside help_ making things more complicated, ‘specially when _outside help_ is blood-related.”

There was a beat of silence before Genji pounced on the weakness there, like a wolf. “...Situation? So you admit there’s something there?” He couldn’t help the grin in his voice. A sudden realization came to him. “Oh my god… I was so fucking blind. Spirits and gods above.This isn’t about  _fun_ or _stress relief_ for you, is it? You… you _want_ him _._ You have _feelings_. For my brother.”

Jesse looked like he wanted to throw each and every brightly lit shuriken in his arms into Genji’s face, “Fuck do you take me for?—Don’t answer that. I _know_.” The man paused, sounding calmer, “I know we’ve both had… casual stuff in the past we helped each other out with. This ain’t like that. So just… stay out, alright?” There was a begging tone to his voice. He averted his gaze suddenly, “I know it ain’t right, but you forgave him already, so can you forgive me for… catching feelings for him?”

Genji laughed, “I thought maybe you just wanted to have some fun… and well. You know. He hasn’t exactly had a lot of that since… Well.. maybe ever.” The cyborg rubbed his cheek in a gesture of contriteness. A mannerism he adopted to make himself easier for others to read. “Still… It could be good for him. For both of you really, but I won’t lie. It’ll probably be difficult. He may prove quite troublesome.”

“Also what kinda fucking brother are you!? Trying to set him up with a _fling!?_ Shouldn’t you be defending his honor or some shit?” Jesse had come down from anger and had settled comfortably into ‘exasperated’ at this point; as if settling into the ratty old chair he'd laid claim to in Gibraltar's rec room.

“As I said Hanzo hasn’t had much to enjoy. His childhood was spent being groomed to take our father’s place. His ‘flings’” Genji put air quotations around the word, “were pretty few and far between—and believe me, I _did_ try to help him when we were younger in that regard. And I wasn’t very successful most of the time. Frankly I’d see it as a sign of progress myself, but if you have your sights set on a loftier goal by all means,” Genji made a sweeping gesture as if to say ‘ _have at it._ ’

“He deserves more,” Jesse’s words were quiet, and the almost longing way he said it had a smile pulling at Genji’s lips.

“Well, good luck to you—to _both_ of you, I should say.”

“ _Excuse me?_ You tryin’ ta say something about your present company?” Jesse used his body to shield Genji’s body from view of bystanders and security cameras as the man loaded his shuriken into his arm.

“ _Me?_ Why I would never say anything about my best friend behind his front,” Genji deadpanned.

Jesse rolled his eyes and handed over the wakizashi which Genji slid into place easily. He felt complete again.

Sensing that their conversation was done for the moment, Jesse switched his communicator back on and Genji did the same.

“Ain’t found a kaiju yet. Eyes in the sky are nearsighted. Gonna continue to stretch my legs for a bit and see if our neighbors have any _Lost Episodes_ among their merch after this.”

“I will continue my search as well.”

 _“You have twenty minutes Jace, starting now,”_ to his credit, Hanzo sounded completely calm and together. Absolutely professional and not _at all_ like he’d been contemplating a repeat of a fateful encounter a decade ago.

“Rather take my time, but if fast and dirty is the way you want it, honey, you got it.” Jesse was looking anywhere but at Genji and the younger Shimada choked back a laugh. He could just picture his brother’s expression.

There was simply a sigh across the main commline, _“Please use the remainder of your nineteen minutes and thirty three seconds wisely."_

“No promises,” McCree mumbled into the communicator, a slight reverb in Genji’s skull as he heard it with his ears and through the earpiece.

With a pat that was a bit too much like pity on the cowboy’s shoulder, Genji parted ways from McCree and when they left the cosplay repair station they were strangers again with wildly different agendas.

Genji started to beeline for one of the other vendor areas. McCree had this one covered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If no one else is going to write a fic about Genji Shimada undercover at a comicon in his Sentai skin, then it falls to me. This is my burden. Also I love prosthetics!Hanzo but... I also love skipslegday!Hanzo just as much for the humor potential. Also Sombra is going to break everyone's heart someday, but probably not in this fic.
> 
> Also: I did so much world-building for this stupid fic you don't even know. The Steel Senshi is vaguely inspired by "The Steel Samurai" from Phoenix Wright. A group of warriors are scattered through time and each show follows a different 'era' (named for colors bc it's a kid's show) that vaguely follows feudalism.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwatch delves deeper into the mystery of who is behind the smuggling. Team Blackwatch comports themselves admirably while Tracer realizes she was never meant for undercover work.

_“What I wanna know,”_ McCree said over the main channel conversationally—evidently abandoning his earlier edict of leaving the channel free for vital information. _“Is why the hell everyone assumes my arm is fake, and your legs are real?”_

 _“Your arm_ is _fake,”_ Hanzo pointed out, the barest traces of amusement lurking in that deadpan delivery.

_“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re sitting there with your real flesh and blood legs an’ everyone asking you—impertinently, I might add—how you lost ‘em. Meanwhile I got a genuine prosthetic and I got fourteen year olds asking me how the hell I made my ‘Mechtech’ or whatever look so good and where can they get some of the paint I used.”_

_“Do you have something business related to report, or are you merely grousing?”_

_“Yeah. Can’t find a single goddamn Limited Edition Legendary Lost Episode of Shinobi Sakura Dreams in our neck of the woods. No kaiju either. Well, there was_ one, _but it was more like a big robot dinosaur thing, didn’t sound like what our friend talked about earlier.”_

_“I see. Please report back… And bring food. Something not completely drenched in grease, if at all possible.”_

_“Anything for you Hei-seed.”_

Genji smirked, even though he was no closer to finding this mythical booth that Emily mentioned.

 _“Jace… Please, save the names for a more… personal moment when we aren’t working.”_ The words were so carefully constructed and expertly delivered. Had Genji been a mere bystander at the stall—which there surely was, given the response—he wouldn’t have suspected anything out of place. He simply heard an age-old argument between friends. Or lovers.

 _“Hey-hey, you know I don’t mean nothing by it, right Heizo?”_ There was a bit of warmth there. Evidently Jesse could find ridiculous nicknames even for their undercover personas.

_“If that’s what passes for an apology I suppose I’ll accept it. Now, don’t bother me until you return with food. I have a customer.”_

“No luck here, I’m moving on to the next section. How’s your date going Tracer?”

 _“I can walk with you! I didn’t actually come with anyone, these things are more fun with someone else, yeah?”_ It was adorable how nervous the other woman sounded.

“Oh good. See if you can get her to retrace her steps.”

 _“Yer only just now fixin’ to ask her to hang out? Ain't like you to be so slow darlin,”_ Jesse mercilessly teased their pilot over the comms. Safe from threats to be left behind at extraction thanks to Lena's company.

_“Hey, I think I got something here. Circle around to the southern section of the vending floor you’re in. You might find the big friend we were looking for. I’ll keep combing the cameras for more possible hits.”_

“Thanks for the tip. I’m on my way.” Genji took the next right, following the stream of convention goers, knowing better than to try to go against such a flow of human traffic.

_“As long as I don’t have to make any more websites today to back up your ridiculous lies, I’ll be happy.”_

\----

“How many giant kaiju can there be in one convention!?” The kaiju Genji had come across was impressive, but it was nowhere near any type of “punk” stand. (Unless he really was so old and out of touch he couldn’t even recognize that anymore…)

_“Don’t blame me. Their camera system doesn’t have the best coverage. And it’s shitty quality too. I’m pretty sure these cameras are just here to make sure that the evacuation routes are clear in case of emergencies.”_

“Wonderful. Any clue how our pilot is doing?”

There was a distinct ‘’i unno’ sound from their resident hacker that buzzed in Genji’s ear.

_“Don’t look at me. She was supposed to stay by the car. No eyes there. Not like you. Or the vaquero’s hat.”_

“Great. Well. There's only one other vendor floor after this…”

_“Maybe the bad guys are having their own secret convention and built their own center inside this one?”_

Genji laughed. Morado's sense of humor fit right in with them, like she’d always been a part of the team. “This place is big enough I wouldn't discount that as a possibility.” He let his feet carry him away from the latest kaiju sighting, hoping for some better luck.

\----

Jesse took his mission very seriously.

He had not been swept up by the crowd, or put off by overly long lines at the chimichanga stalls he’d passed several minutes back, no siree.

And he definitely wasn’t lost. He was a Blackwatch veteran. He could find his way back to East Meets West no problem.

Getting out of trouble was as easy as getting into it.

Which was why, after getting two gyros to go, stacked neatly in styrofoam boxes, he simply let his feet carry him. Might as well scope out some new territory on his way back. McCree cursed as some rude asshat in a blinding orange jacket, doing a full Naruto run, nearly caused him to drop one of the gyros. McCree barely caught the container before tzatziki sauce and pita bread came spilling out. The gunslinger turned con-goer spun awkwardly in place, clutching the container to his chest. McCree wanted to laugh a moment later. He could just barely see it.

The head of a dark navy kaiju.

He was almost tempted to buy that asshat lunch. Well, lunch was a step too far. Maybe a cup of coffee.

Now McCree wasn’t well versed in what ‘punk couture’ was, but he was fairly certain he saw the other store Emily had mentioned. He filtered out another one of Genji’s inane conversations and started sweeping the row. He clicked the channel over to a private one, he didn’t need distractions—but he didn’t want to call in confirmation yet either, not until he was sure.

It didn’t take long to find the target. There were white banners and sharp, crisp graphic designs on the stand. Clearly a setup with more money behind it than _East Meets West_ , and it took Jesse a moment to set aside some momentary jealousy. _Stupid.. always taking yer undercover identity too seriously._ And several prominent displays of various cinematic omnic replicas. He browsed at the bookseller across the way, taking in information about the people running the stall. Four individuals tightly squeezed into their footprint. Not quite as small as a single table, but not a huge stall either. They worked smoothly and professionally. Nothing gave them away as obviously combat trained, however. Jesse sighed, as if disappointed in the selection of books in front of him, and Jace sauntered on over to the stand in question, a flick of his spurs setting the video feed active.

 _Omnic Options._ Catchy name at least.The stall was doing a brisk business, but it gave Jesse enough time to sweep the display. He sidled up to the counter, looking again, as if indecisive. He saw several replicas set to look like the central plot device from _Eye of the Omnic._ One was as big as a volleyball, others were more along the size of billiard balls. There were even tiny ones set as keychains (or perhaps a slightly large cell phone charm). There were other famous omnic relics too. The jagged, glowing drive from _Ten Nights a Tin Man_ that housed the human consciousness of a man dropped into an omnic shell.

The comm was deathly silent. No Morado. No Torb. No Athena.

Just as well. If this place was the real deal, it was probably risky enough having the video feed active. One of the men behind the counter looked him in the face. Mid thirties, black hair, black goatee, and reminded McCree just a bit too much of someone he’d buried during his Deadlock days. _Smile big for the camera, asshole._

“Nice setup you got here,” said Jace, reaching for one of the keychains. McCree would be willing to eat his beloved hat if it wasn’t a perfect, miniature replica of what Emily had been showing Genji earlier. He held it slightly above his head, admiring the translucency, and he could see what he was looking for embedded just under the rings of the keychain. Barely the size of a grain of rice, a transmitter of some kind. Well, Morado had complained earlier about her previous trace being cut short…

“Got real fond memories of this movie. Lotta firsts happened during a pretty special viewing. How much?”

The man with the goatee pointed to the sign, and Jace cocked his head to one side. “Something the matter partner?”

“Don’t mind him,” a soft, sotto voice cut across the background noise of the center floor. One of the other attendants, a woman with blond hair that hung halfway down her back addressed him. She smiled at him prettily, and he could tell she was meant to be a ‘booth babe’ from her skimpy crop top with their logo on it. Something about her set his teeth on edge. “He can’t speak actually. Accident, years ago. Messed up his vocal chords.”

McCree let his eyes flick back to the man, and now he could spy it. Angry red skin on the man’s throat hidden behind some stubble on the man’s neck. It wasn’t quite a full neckbeard, but thick enough to obscure the injury. _Acid burn? Torn throat? Hmmm_.

“Ah,” McCree sketched a quick sign for _sorry_ and then _sign-language_ and he used the full signs, rather than the fingerspelling of ‘A-S-L’ _I forget most._

The man behind the desk titled his head and his hands cut through the air with precision. Clearly he was competent, but his sign lacked the character or flair of a natural signer. Or maybe the man was just naturally precise at all times.

_I’m mute, but not deaf. I can understand you._

McCree tilted his head. _Interesting. Knows some grammar clearly, but falls back on signed exact english._ Not atypical for a late learner, he supposed. But the precision and neatness of the signs intrigued him. There were no shortcuts or abbreviations of movement. Although McCree certainly hadn’t been lying. His knowledge of sign was rusty, but at least he confirmed the man knew and used ASL. And he didn’t quite catch some of what the man signed to his blonde partner, but she did sign back and McCree didn’t recognize anything she sketched in the air at all. The motion for _send_ he remembered, wait not _send_ — _shipment_ , the verb turned into a noun through repetition. A private conversation in both standard ASL and some other modified sign. _Even more interesting._ Probably a modified field sign they’d devised so they couldn’t be eavesdropped on as easily. Blackwatch had developed one for their own Deaf (and deaf) agents, back in the day.

It had been one of Reyes’s favorite gambits. People said all sorts of shit when they knew someone couldn’t hear. They felt safe.

“My apologies then, I’m used to folk taking exception to me, so I figured I’d ask if I’d done something wrong,” McCree didn’t have much cash left on him after the ridiculously overpriced lunch he’d procured for Hanzo and himself, but it was enough to get him a keychain and a business card.

He scratched the back of his calf with one boot and flicked off the video feed before he turned to leave the booth.

As soon as he felt he was far enough away he hit his communicator over to the main channel again, “Hey, ya’ll won’t believe what I just found.”

_“Jace, I thought I told you not to call before you came back with sustenance.”_

_“Hey, let him speak! It’s good stuff,”_ Jesse made himself a mental note to send Morado a goddamn fruit basket later. For both the pun and having his back.

“Found the stall selling _The Limited Edition Legendary Lost Episodes of Shinobi Sakura Dreams._ Got myself a nice little souvenir to remember it by. _Omnic Options._ ”

 _“The signal on your little keychain is pretty weak… I’m not getting much useful information out of it. Sorry. But it won’t be long now that we have a location. Hey, dragonbutt. Get your chassis over there so I can get some_ real _work done.”_ Morado sounded downright _hungry_ for the challenge.

_“I do have a callsign for this mission. What do you all have against the Rokudaime?”_

_“Excellent work, Jace. If you bring food in the next five minutes, I might consider giving you a raise.”_

“Aww honeycup, yer gonna make me blush over here! And I hope you like gyros.” Jesse hated the way his heart skipped a beat, but he could _hear_ the genuine praise in the man’s voice. He didn’t hate having feelings, McCree wasn’t that type of man. He hated it because this could compromise everything. He had good instincts and even good discipline, despite appearances, but when his heart got involved… everything could end up going out the window.

And it usually did.

He flipped open one of the containers and nibbled on the corner of the gyro that had nearly given its life for this mission.

On his left hip, the unblinking omnic eye hung off one of his belt loops, bouncing against his leg with each jingle of his spurs.

\----

Tracer had newfound respect for her former Blackwatch comrades. This undercover stuff was no cakewalk. She was constantly on edge. Worried about slipping up further and revealing too much to her target. It bothered her she had to think of Emily as a target. She was sweet, intelligent, and adorably excited by the venue. They'd fallen into a comfortable pattern, as though they hadn't just met that afternoon. Emily would spot something, tug on Tracer’s arm and they'd go off to see some amazing cosplay or booth, and they'd fall into an easy, animated discussion until something else caught Emily's attention. Lena's attention was much more singular, for a change, and it seemed to narrow more and more on the woman beside her.

This time when Tracer felt that tug on her arm, she froze as she saw what Emily was so excited about.

Emily paused and gave Lena a quizzical look.

 _The Slipstream_.

The stuff of nightmares. The thing that had reduced her hold to this world and time to little more than a tethered thread.

“Wow, your fear of heights bad enough a model jet sets it off?” Emily's tone was clearly teasing.

It was enough to snap Tracer out of her flashback. She could see now the places the model was different from reality. This was clearly modeled after the Slipstream featured in the movie about her highly publicized training accident. Lena hadn't liked it at the time, but the brass at Overwatch thought it was a great idea. Best to not show weakness, and control the public perception of what exactly had happened to her. She'd endured months of interviews and even showed up to the world premier and given the movie glowing praise.

And hated every moment.

She flashed Emily a winning smile, “Well, you know.” She laughed and gestured at her clothes as if the answer was obvious. “Don't wanna get lost in time again.”

“C'mon let's go get a picture. Two lady pilots. It'll be great!”

Emily was even harder to refuse than a room full of UN and Overwatch officials.

Lena found she didn't mind it nearly as much.

And she really _wanted_ a picture to remember this by.

_“You want me to steal a copy of the picture from her phone, or set up a secure email for you to receive it, chica?”_

Tracer looked up at the ceiling and tried to find a camera she could discreetly flip off.

\----

Genji was more than a little alarmed at how many omnic relics he was seeing scattered throughout the crowd. “Did they have some kind of deal going on? I see a lot of these things.”

_“They had a notice about swag, but they were out. Didn't feel like pressing my luck too much to inquire about the specifics. Did have a buy two get one free thing going on though.”_

_“I think I found your real problem. There's a second stall. Smaller, but in vendor wing 3.”_

“Close enough to coordinate, far enough to get decent coverage. Deadeye. Have you checked that card?”

 _“Not yet, gimme a hot second here. Transferring this precious cargo.”_ There was a brief moment of silence as (presumably) Jesse handed off a gyro to his brother. _“Yeah, like Morado said. ‘Nother stall in vendor wing 3, row H, stall 118.”_

 _“They’re all Baotou omnic parts, I don’t understand. It’s been locked down for ages. Ever since we deployed Ishtar. Didn’t hear any chatter about new omnic parts coming out of there either.”_ Torbjörn sounded quite distressed. _“Can’t be scavenged. These are fresh off the assembly line. Newly minted.”_

“No one’s heard from Ishtar in years. All attempts to contact her were unsuccessful as far as I’m aware. Am I mistaken?”

_ <All attempts to reach Ishtar have timed out. Most recent attempt: 12 milliseconds ago. Ishtar was last successfully contacted: 9549 days, 22 hours, and 13 minutes ago.> _

_“Ishtar? That a friend of yours? Or a relative?”_

_ <I’m sorry Agent Morado. That information is above your clearance level. If you would like further information on the subject, you may apply for a clearance upgrade in 513 days. Alternatively the field commander for this mission and our acting strike commander could give you authorization to receive further information.> _

_“I am not authorizing something I do not know the contents of myself. We can deal with it later,”_ Hanzo sounded mildly perturbed. Genji supposed, on reflection, he probably should have told Hanzo (or reminded him) that he’d had enough tenure both officially and unofficially to up his clearance level. Genji had been part of Blackwatch for so long, he hadn’t needed to think about his clearance level upon answering the recall.

Still, between what happened in Geneva and his own tortured history with his brother.. Genji wasn’t exactly surprised that no one had gone out of their way to inform the elder Shimada he was eligible for more privileges.

<Field Commander, your clearance is high enough that I can send you the related files to your datapad, if you wish to peruse them later.>

_“What? But I never applied for any sort of… upgrade.”_

_ <Your clearance has been temporarily upgraded due to your status as field commander. If you wish to have it upgraded permanently you can fill out Security Questionnaire 57-B, Non-Disclosure Form 33-7R, and Clearance Application 17-A for consideration. The process is outlined in your agent handbook on page 114.> _

_“Perhaps I will have to inspect the handbook more carefully, it has been some time since I first looked at it.”_

_“Jesus, I shoulda filled out those damn forms myself and turned ‘em in for ya. What a pain. Hey Metal-man, you remember Vasilios?”_

Genji barked out a quiet laugh and lowered his voice, “Vaso? Of course. I ran several missions with him as his ‘translator omnic.’”

_“Hope you remember your sign better than me. One of the gentleman at the booth I stopped at uses it. Maybe you can decode some of their more discreet conversation. Always were better at that than me.”_

“I guess we’ll both find out. Now I miss the poor, sorry bastard though.” Genji felt himself trail off as he remembered the last time he’d seen Vaso. Alive one moment and gone the next.

Genji hadn't been back to Cypress since.

_Let's hope I haven't forgotten everything you taught me Vaso._

“Hey, there’s omnics here right? Security and otherwise. Why haven’t any of them noticed…?” Genji was mildly perturbed that none of the omnics in attendance had noticed or taken exception at having the equivalent of organs being sold and purchased on the vending floor.

_“Hmm. That little transmitter could be masking the signature. It’d make sense. We’re human, well, mostly in your case dragonbutt, but omnics can only rely on what their sensors say. If those are fooled…”_

Genji shivered a bit, trying not to think of his mentor being so vulnerable. Or any other members of the Shambali. “On my way to check out the second site, then I’ll swing by the main booth.” He lengthened his stride a bit, and he didn’t stop the next time he heard someone exclaim over his costume.

\----

Hanzo was perched on the back table in their little stall. There was only one chair for the two of them, and Jesse had staked his claim on it to man the register.

The gyro was not the best Hanzo had ever eaten, but considering the venue, it was above and beyond anything he had a right to expect. Frankly, he was impressed Jesse hadn’t returned bearing chilli bacon burgers or some sort of cheese-smothered poutine/nacho hybrid monstrosity. And grateful. So very, very grateful.

“Tracer, make your way over to that secondary booth. You can remain there after my brother does his initial approach. We'll need eyes there.”

 _“Roger dodger,”_ was the soft reply.

“So,” Hanzo considered his next words carefully. “Is there anything else I should know that I have _conveniently_ not been reminded of?”

“Dunno, guess it's a good question. Figured you'd have the damn handbook memorized myself. Kinda surprised you didn't,” Jesse drummed the table nervously, tipping his hat to some passers-by.

“It may surprise you, but I had many things on my mind back when it was first thrust on my person. Memorizing what appeared to be nonexistent regulations was not high on my priority list,” Hanzo huffed the words airily, as though he wasn't the one at fault. As if his own negligence had been justified. McCree saw through him, as always.

Hanzo still wasn't sure he liked that.

“You saying we don't run a tight ship darlin’?” The cowboy leaned back in the chair to grin at him. Hanzo definitely hated the way his heart fluttered at that smile, the one that felt like it was reserved for him.

“It could stand to be tighter yes.” Hanzo realized his error as soon as he saw Jesse's eyes light up, and his stomach was already winding itself up in tight, sparking knots of anticipation.

“Well, if you like tight things…” Jesse let his words trail off wickedly. Hanzo hadn't meant to give the man such an opening, but he found he couldn't take it back either. He didn't want to. Not when there was that intoxicating promise of _possibility_ in the air between them.

He _hated_ this, hated _himself_.

The heat in his belly reminded him of a Chinese fable his father used to tell him as a child. How long ago they thought an eclipse was the sun being devoured by a dragon (though sometimes it was a dog, or dogs plural as it was in Korea). And in the streets they would bellow and wail and shoot arrows at the sky to fell the beast. And the great, immortal Zhang Xian always watched the heavens, bow poised to strike the beast down and protect the sky. _You are both Zhang Xian and the dragon that consumes, my son. Those beliefs may not be held as truth any longer, but they still have power._ Hanzo had learned that lesson well. To utterly command was to be both deliverance and scourge.

Hanzo knew would devour everything good about Jesse; then there would be nothing left behind but darkness and void.

And it would be his fault.

He did not think of himself as a dragon, but he had shared his body with two of them for many years, and the lines became… blurred. Sometime in his twenties he had realized it had been over half his life, and the part where he had been merely human, only Hanzo, was an ever-diminishing remainder. Sometimes their perception bled over into his, and Hanzo wasn’t sure if it was because of how long he had lived as their vessel, or because he had spent the better part of the last ten years subsuming his consciousness into theirs. Escaping his grief over what he’d done to Genji by letting them take control, living his life through their senses, and hunting his extended family through their eyes, detached from his own existence. Only surfacing from that haze to punish himself.

Part of him wondered what would have happened if Genji had found him when he had been sleepwalking through the eyes of his dragons.

“Hayflower? You still with me? Seems like you went someplace without me for a sec there,” Hanzo could just see the traces of concern at the edges of his expression. Those same lines full of laughter and promise suddenly full of worry. Apart from that McCree appeared to be completely casual.

“Apologies. I suppose I did… go somewhere for a moment.” McCree was good and pulling Hanzo out of his head. Isolation over the past ten years had made everything worse, but Jesse seemed to know when to give him space and when not to leave him too alone. Even after all this time, slipping into his head was second nature. If he slipped fully under into that haze where the dragons were his senses while on a mission…

“Anyplace exciting?”

“Ancient China,” Hanzo answered without hesitation or explanation.

Jesse lifted a brow (when had he started having the audacity to think of the man as _Jesse_ in his thoughts?) but made no comment. Slowly, the cowboy stood up, pushing the folding chair in at the front of the display. In a moment, McCree was standing beside Hanzo, still staring out at the teeming mass of people walking by. Hanzo’s eyes were drawn by movement and sound, a metal hand sliding along the table. A defenseless, loose fist resting on display, inches from his knee. Such a small distance, but Hanzo had learned that sometimes small things were the hardest.

Hanzo found that small moments like this were harder to resist than solar heat from innuendo or dazzling smiles.

The gyro suddenly felt heavy in his hands, and he let it rest on the styrofoam box in his lap.

He wondered how much longer he could fight this thing that was growing between them.

His hands rested heavy on his knees, heavier than the metal one McCree offered for silent support.

“We’re working,” Hanzo croaked out the words softly, clinging to any thread of an excuse not to give in.

“Tha’s what delegation is for, lobo. 'Sides. I can multitask,” Jesse was grinning. Hanzo didn’t dare look to confirm it, but he knew.

Hanzo felt his arm prickle, dragons restless beneath his skin, that familiar ache against his bones when they wanted _something_. It terrified him that he couldn't tell if they wanted to claim McCree or consume him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

“There ain't some kind of secret bear trap attachment if that's what yer worried about.”

A laugh clawed it's way out of Hanzo’s throat, sudden and painful.

“It doesn't? Maybe you should invest in one. It might save your life someday,” Hanzo pressed his trembling hand flat on the cheap table until the shaking was completely stilled.

There were only a few centimeters separating Hanzo’s pinky from McCree’s hand now.

“Don’t reckon I want saving from whatever’s headed my way,” his voice was warm, like the rays of gold licking the edge of an eclipse.

Jesse’s hand was still and motionless.

Because it wasn’t the sun that moved during an eclipse. It was the shadow of the moon.

It was the devouring beast.

As soon as Hanzo moved his hand the lights went out.

Distantly, he heard wailing and screaming as he fell to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me to myself: You know what this light-hearted and very Not Serious(™) fic needs?? Like a thousand words of Hanzo Shimada's issues and self loathing.  
> We already know that their dad likes to tell them stories, so I imagine that Sojiro told his sons all sorts of other stories that would give them an edge with their competitors in other countries. Hence the tale of the sun devouring dragon. And/Or dog. Zhang Xian (according to wiki) was in opposition solely to the dog (from my not admittedly deep research) which kinda kills me but whatever!!
> 
> So this chapter actually grew to a size where I needed to split it into two so.........idk about chapter count anymore??? Maybe like 4-5ish?? I don't know plot keeps happening and it's very upsetting lol. (I'm sorry there's not as much cute lesbian stuff happening in this chapter, due to the new arrangement there'll be stuff in the next chapter tho!) Also writing is tough when you work 40 hours a week and your job does not allow any kind of digital nonsense going on and you have to peck out maybe 20-100 words on your phone while on break.
> 
> Also notes I forgot from part the first: We know basically nothing about Emily so I made her Welsh and a weeb bc why not??? And there were other things I meant to say after chapter 1 that I remembered I forgot. And... I still forget most of what else I wanted to say so there you go!!
> 
> Thanks for the response and comments and everything! I'd forgotten else it's like writing for an active fandom o:


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which several things happen at once, and everything goes sideways.

Tracer may not have been good at undercover ops, but she was a damn fine pilot and field operative. She was often teased as ‘distractible’ but the truth was, like most pilots, she was constantly gathering information. Noticing a slight change in the environment was often the difference between life and death in the cockpit or on the ground. One measurement on her instrumentation, one shadow across the sky, one shift in an enemy’s formation, any piece of information could give her the edge she needed to stay alive.

So when the lights went out Tracer didn't panic. She didn't even take a moment to revel in Emily's scream or the way she clutched to her side.

What Tracer did zero in on in that moment was the fading optic display of the Security Omnic towering over them, over 8 feet tall and easily a metric ton in weight.

Lena could already see it falling in her mind as she bent her knees and clutched Emily's waist.

Most people would have hesitated before trying something utterly untested and unknown. Most people would have paused, if only for a millisecond, at the idea of pushing the boundaries of a one of a kind scientific miracle. Lena wasn't most people. She was a pilot.

And she knew the only way to survive as a pilot was to have complete trust in her instincts. To fly faster than any doubts.

The chronal accelerator hummed and there was a sudden wall of silence. Tracer felt Emily's ribcage expand beneath her palm, drawing in an impossibly slow gasp.

Tracer didn’t hesitate so much as linger, taking in unearthly blue glow that bled between them and lit up Emily's freckles and turned her lashes as blue the goggles perched on her head.

Then Lena blinked.

The streak of blue had already faded as the omnic collapsed where they'd just been standing.

For a moment everything seemed to shrink and recede into the distance. Then there was a disorienting shift and Lena felt that roller coaster thrill in her stomach as she fell forward. Deposited rudely into the proper time, if not space. Winston had explained it to her several times. Usually when she pushed the boundaries and ended up somewhere (or somewhen) unexpected. In addition to her chronological placement, they needed to consider her spatial displacement as well. The earth and universe both continued to move, even if Tracer’s relative relationship to time was shifted.

So Tracer wasn’t surprised that she’d ended up like this—especially since the accelerator was keyed in specifically to her mass.

She’d never tried to take a person with her before.

In another time and place, Lena might have taken a bit of guilty pleasure in accidentally landing on Emily.

As it was, a killer nosebleed and the mass hysteria in the background were really killing the whole sexual tension thing. _Fuck, I hope I don’t get any blood on her. That’s what you get for tarrying too long in-between._

Lena clapped a hand under her nose and tried to stem the bleeding, and started pushing herself up, mindful that her chronal accelerator was probably not the sexiest or most comfortable thing to get caught beneath either. “Sorry. But hey, at least we’re not..y’know. Crushed.” Though with the way the crowd was making towards the exits, that wasn’t guaranteed to remain true.

Pinching her nose, Lena hopped to her feet and reached down with her unbloodied hand to help Emily back up from the ground.

Lena tried to ignore the way her heart tore in her chest as Emily squeezed her hand before pulling herself up.

“Let’s get out of here, I dunno what’s going on, but…”

“You go. I need to stay here and help,” Lena gave Emily’s hand a quick squeeze, before attempting to give her a gentle push towards the doors.

“What are you talking about!? We gotta get out of the way so the emergency services can get whatever this shit is sorted out.”

“I.. need to find a friend.”

Emily’s hand went slack in Tracer’s grasp.

“You told me you came alone.” The low, accusing tone in Emily’s voice felt like a knife to the gut.

“I know. I lied. I wanted to hang out with you instead, but now I need to go, and so do you,” Lena took Emily by the shoulders, spun her about face, and gave her another gentle push before turning on her heel and running through the crowd deeper into the convention center, trying to cut across the sheer sea of humanity to get to the doors she needed.

It was then Tracer suddenly realized how quiet her comm was.

“Hey, hey, million dollar man? Where are you? Don’t hear any chatter from ya love. Deadeye? Seiryu?”  
  
“ _Eres tan patético, que resultas entrañable._ _Look, I haven’t dated anyone in awhile, but that was probably the worst fucking thing you could have told her.”_ Morado was better than no one.

“Where the hell is everyone?”

 _“Be patient.”_ Morado’s voice was suddenly cold and sharp. _“We’re working on getting dragonbutt back into the loop. Looks like poor resident ninja cyborg got his reset button hit pretty hard. Or something.”_

“Or something!?”

Tracer didn’t get a reply.

\----

The first thing Genji was aware of was being cold. His whole body was absolutely frigid. He wanted to shiver, but nothing was responding. He felt dizzy next, and he was aware that it was difficult to breathe. He tried to pull air into his lungs, but they didn’t seem to want to inflate. Genji was dimly aware that everything was dark.

Beneath the burgeoning panic he was aware his cybernetics had been completely deactivated. Compromised. He was blind and trapped beneath the weight of his own metal chassis.

The only reason he knew his heart was beating was because everything else was so _still_. He could feel it weakly thrumming, off-rhythm and weak. But it was still trying to push blood through his body. Genji almost smiled, feeling a sort of twisted gratitude that he had lost so much of himself ten years ago.  
  
It was less work for his heart now.

 _Must have been an EMP._ The skin pressed against his faceplate was hot and sweaty, but the rest of him was cold. Angela had explained it to him once, when he had complained in the early days, under piles of blankets with no relief. How the body processed the absence of information from his nerves as cold.

He couldn’t move his hands, couldn’t even turn his head. There was a prickling sensation in his head as the dizziness got worse.

 _Well that’s it for me, I guess_. _Sorry everyone. I suppose I’ll find out if I get to be one with the Iris or go to my ancestors…_

He didn’t want to die like this. He didn’t want to die scared and panicking under the weight of his body. He could still choose. He could still choose peace, even if he couldn’t take deep breaths.

As Genji slipped into familiar, final meditations, his senses exploded.

It was like pain without pain, white flashes of light along the places he still had skin. Every biotic connector coming back online at once. His lungs suddenly expanded fully, and he almost felt sick at the sudden, blessed sensation of oxygen. When he was a child, he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse, not giving the beast the respect it deserved. His chest felt like that now as the biotech that helped regulate his heart corrected his arrhythmia and set his heart properly beating again.

His vision flickered back online, and he was aware that he was twitching as everything reconnected. He heard the familiar fans and power cores whirr to life, and he drunkenly reached for the catch to his faceplate. It was difficult, while his limbs were still calibrating, but he managed to expose his face, and the unfiltered air hit his lungs like knives, but Genji was so grateful for the feeling of air on his face and in his airway, he didn’t care. His stomach lurched, as if thinking about being ill, but he managed not to vomit.

Slowly, Genji pushed himself up, his arms didn’t quite feel like part of his body. His vision was still dim, but he realized the lights were out everywhere.

He flinched at a sudden voice in his ear, _“Hey! Dragonbutt! You still with us? You were completely down for like… too long. I had to get Athena to help me get your communication shit back online. I was worried I’d need to start calling you ‘cacharro’ from now on.”_

_ <Agent Bushin, we lost your vital readings for 75 seconds. Are you alright? Agent Mercy is quite concerned that there was such an interruption in the monitoring of your vitals.> _

“I’m fine… I think,” Genji swallowed thickly. “That’s not my callsign for this mission, Athena. Even you?” She was a computer program! She was supposed to be above that sort of petty judgement!

_ <The acting field commander did not register ‘Rokudaime’ as your callsign before departing for this mission. My apologies Agent Bushin.> _

“I should have known. Just… give me a little bit to recover. You can get me reconnected to the main channels right? I should probably check in as soon as possible.”

 _“Don’t insult me. Ah man this is awkward. I guess I need to get Lucio and Hana to stop updating your social media page now. Too bad we didn’t send them along. That mech would be great right now,”_ Morado mimicked the sound effects of a mech deploying in his ear while her console whirred in the background. _“You should take a look at your fake social media page by the way. It’s mostly cats but some other crazy shit in there too. You know I respect Hana, but damn that girl goes to some scary places that even I don’t wanna go. And I spend most of my time on the dark web.”_

Genji laughed, and the act of it was painful to his still-recovering body. He started taking stock of his surroundings. His immediate area was clear of people, but he could see people streaming towards the exits just a short distance away. He noticed several deactivated omnics who weren’t as lucky as he was. _Maybe their data is still recoverable…_ If anyone bothered to recover it. He pushed the thought aside. _Focus on the mission_. “Yeah, they were both pretty gutted to be benched for this one. They’re both just such big deals though. Hard for them to slip in under the radar. Bad enough with Deadeye in our group. Wanted man and all. I’m sure d.Va will show me everything later once we get back.”

_“Anyways, you’ll be patched back into the mission channels, so just hang tight.”_

“Understood,” Genji felt a wave of relief hit him as biotic nanobots were released into his bloodstream along with some painkillers. He started doing calibration exercises, starting with his hands, to make sure the sensors and digital gyroscopes hadn’t been damaged or misaligned.

\----

Jesse should have known this was too easy. Should have listened to that little voice in the back of his head more closely.

The keychain on his hip had flickered before shooting out a shockwave that sent McCree to the floor.

An explosion of pain shot through his left arm, up through his shoulder. The arm attached to his limb twitched and shuddered, before crackling with sparks and becoming nothing more than an unresponsive hunk of metal. He could smell that awful smell of burned insulation and fused wires. There was a searing heat where his flesh and prosthetic met, and he cried out. At the same time the cybernetics embedded around his eye flickered, sending a blinding pain through the socket, and his ear was filled with nothing but feedback and a ringing that seemed to bisect his skull.

He ripped the now-useless comm out of his ear and crushed it beneath a boot, fumbling for the catch to release his arm. Last thing he needed was an electrical fire connected to his arm. He cursed again as it didn’t yield to his touch.

Suddenly, a pair of cool, pale hands covered his own, gently pushing his flesh and bone hand out of the way.

The cybernetics in his vision flickered again before stabilizing. Apparently they’d been shielded enough from the EMP not to fry completely.

If he’d had a pacemaker or cybernetics like Genji… McCree shuddered, trying not to think about it.

Hanzo tugged at the catch once more before a frown creased those beautiful, severe features. Jesse’s hearing had cleared enough that he could hear the chatter from Hanzo’s earpiece. There were a lot of voices talking over each other, asking about everyone else’s position and welfare.

“ _Enough_. McCree’s arm has been compromised by the EMP blasts. Report, agents. Brother?” Hanzo’s jaw was tighter than Jesse had ever seen it before as the man tried to pull the hopelessly broken catch on his arm.

 _“Why do you refuse to use my call sign, anija? Genji here. Still genki. I had hoped to never have to test the fail safes like this but I seem to be alright.”_ Personally, Jesse thought Genji sounded significantly less than fine, but at least the little asshole was still alive and kicking. _“I see a lot of omnic security bots are down… along with lights, card readers, vending machines, television sets...”_

Hanzo let out a quiet, ragged breath that Jesse only heard in person. He could feel it on his shoulder.

_“Tracer reporting in. Um we’re fine. I had to uh… I saved Emily, but she’s in a secure location and headed for evac. Want me to start the car?”_

“That might be wise,” there was a beat… and Hanzo looked at Jesse expectantly. McCree tried not to look at Hanzo’s mouth. He really tried.

“What?”

 _“_ You need to _report in_ ,” Hanzo’s scowl had returned full force.

“On _what_ first of all!? And second of all, I’m standin’ right next to ya!” A spare communicator was suddenly thrust into Jesse’s working hand. “Oh fer—fine,” he fumbled a bit with the earpiece before swapping out the channel deck into his other pocket. ”Deadeye here. How’s the new comm working?”

_“Read you loud and clear, love!”_

_“Anija, I will continue to the booth and rendezvous with you and Deadeye.”_

“You will do no such thing!” Hanzo barked out quickly. “You are far too vulnerable. Get to the extraction point. We don’t know they detonated their entire weapon stock.”

_“Anija, I’m not made of glass—”_

“No, you are made of cybernetics and electrical components. I do not want you to test your failsafes again. Get to the extraction point, that is an order.” Genji swore a dark oath over the line, but he said nothing further on the matter. At least it sounded like a curse the way Genji said it. Jesse didn’t quite pick it all up, something about tigers and caves. His grasp on Japanese was only slightly better than his tentative grasp on sign. In any event, Hanzo didn’t respond.

_“So, good news... We figured out that those ‘transmitters’ were actually there to send out EMPs. Sorry I didn’t figure that out sooner. The incoming transmissions were taken by the actual cores themselves. Then the transmitters just turned each and every one of those little things into improvised weapons. Of course… they couldn’t be sure of coverage so not every omnic in the place is down.. I think, but… those things have a pretty good range. I’m practically blind here now. It’ll take awhile before I can recover...”_

“This was a set up. I think I musta been made when I made my purchase. Musta caught onto the video feed. Or maybe they figured I had their number when I made my purchase. Either way, this ain’t an endgame… it’s a proof of concept. Show the world they can cause havoc whenever they want, turn anyone into a walking anti-omnic weapon or whatever the fuck their agenda is...”

“As sound a conjecture as any, for the moment,” Hanzo frowned at the still-useless hunk of metal hanging off McCree’s arm. “McCree, why is your arm not co-operating?”

“Dunno darlin’ have you tried asking it?”

“Be serious! What is wrong?”

“Either the latch fused from the heat and sparking, or it broke when I fell on it. Need my good buddy back home to fix me up at this point, I think.”

“How compromised are you?”

“Shit, I ain't some sorta invalid. I'll be fine.” McCree swallowed thickly, anger boiling in the back of his throat in the same moment he realized that Hanzo was all but sitting in his lap, tucked neatly between his legs.

“I did not suggest that you are suddenly a burden. I am asking what your capabilities are in this state _as your field commander._ ” There was a flash of blue behind Hanzo's gaze like the shine in the eyes of a wolf or a cat. _Or a reptile_. For a moment it threatened to spill out. The scant air between them seemed to hum with the threat of lightning.

The annoyance that had been building up evaporated in sudden heat that flared deep in Jesse's gut.

“I can still shoot, can still run. Might have some balance issues, but ain’t like this is the first time something like this has happened since I got it.”

“So if you lead me to this booth, you can fight? And Deadeye?”

“Think it's still up, and yeah. Blast was small enough. My arm and the comm took most of it. Might be a different situation if I'd had a bigger souvenir on me.”

Hanzo frowned and reached over for a small backpack that they had stashed under the table. He pulled out a faded and familiar looking bit of cloth, in all the reds of a Santa Fe summer.

“What!? You told me not to bring that!”

Hanzo draped it around Jesse's neck, and bent the dead weight of the metal arm against McCree’s stomach. “And I knew you would be upset if it wasn't nearby if something like this were to happen.”

“How the hell did you even…. You fuckin’ stole my serape!” He wasn't angry. He _should_ have been. Instead he felt something close to wonder.

Hanzo was looking anywhere but his face, refusing to meet his eye. “Stealing is a very strong word when we are currently sharing the same hotel room. I cannot have my agents compromised because they lack gear they are used to.”

Jesse wondered if he had a concussion. Or maybe he'd been blasted clear into some bizarro universe. That seemed more likely than Hanzo-fucking-Shimada stealing his serape and shoving it into their field kit like a security item for a child.

This could not be happening. His own serape purloined from underneath his nose and now produced for the purpose of makeshift field dressing. And yet, he could feel the familiar, worn fabric against the sliver of flesh above the crease of his elbow his elbow, as Hanzo tenderly tucked the useless hunk of metal into the sling.

This was definitely not happening. McCree decided that Dr. Zeigler must have slipped a pacemaker into him at some point, the EMP fried it, and he was dead. It was the only logical explanation for this.

“This will have to do. Take me to the booth, McCree.”

\----

Genji was about 200 meters away from the nearest exit to the extraction point when he heard gunfire explode in his ear. People were still streaming towards the exits in panic, though so far he hadn’t seen anyone actually trampled. “What’s happening?” He hesitated, buffeted around the shoulders as people streamed out.

 _“We have friends who decided to remain in the vendor’s hall. Continue to the extraction point, as ordered.”_ The more Hanzo told him to get out, the less Genji wanted to obey him. It went against all his instincts to leave his teammates behind, unseen.

_“Shit, guys, help. I just realized. I cocked things right up with Emily.”_

“What happened?”

 _“I panicked! I mean I didn’t panic I just wasn’t thinking… or I_ was _thinking about how much I really wanted to actually see her again and not just blow her off because we’re supposed to be undercover…I mean you lot, not so much me...”_

_“Tracer… Please breathe and explain yourself.”_

_“I gave her my real social media profile! She can see my stuff now! And I know it’s locked down pretty tight and all but still… I .. I fucked up. She knows who I am now… if she even believes that it’s really me. When did I get to be such a big deal that I have to worry about that anyway?”_

_“Dios mio. Am I hearing this? I knew I should have made you that fake email.”_

_“Tracer, that’s real fine and dandy, but we got a bit of a situation right now that takes a mite more priority than you fuckin’ up and outing yourself as… you.. To your new girlfriend just now.”_ A bit of gunfire accompanied Jesse’s words. Some from Peacekeeper, some from the enemy.

There was a pause and Jesse spoke again, _“Hold the phone, you saved her earlier didn’t you?”_

_“Well sure, but I don’t think she knew I used my accelerator. All she knows is that I kept her from being crushed by a security omnic.”_

Genji couldn’t help his laugh. “And did you use it to speed away after you saved her?”

 _“Please take this conversation off the main channel_ ,” Hanzo interrupted tersely, his tone clipped.

 _“Yer no fun. Fine. Chanel two for this discussion?”_ Genji flipped to the other channel before Jesse had even finished his suggestion.

_“Guys, this is serious. The fuck are we gonna do? Winston is going to kill me over this.”_

_“What’s this ‘we’ business? Sounds like a personal problem, sweetiepie.”_

“Maybe you can bring her around to meet everyone,” Genji cut through the crowd to flatten himself against a wall.

 _“We could make her an honorary member, with honorary clearance.”_ More gunfire from McCree and the sound of bullets being slotted into place.

_“I hate both of you. How do you two manage to do this so well? I can’t even handle a few bloody hours without screwing up!”_

“Practice,” Genji laughed as he heard McCree give the same answer at the same time.

 _“Clearly this is my fault for assuming you had at least half as much brains as you do ass. I’ll fix this. I got you chiquita.”_ Genji laughed even harder at Tracer’s outburst, and it still hurt his lungs just a little.

He stopped laughing when he heard a gunshot followed by a low curse from the cowboy. “Deadeye? What’s wrong? What happened?”

_“Got winged here. ‘S fine. Be right as rain in a jiffy, don’t you worry about me. You just get yourselves sorted out. Switching over to the main channel.”_

Genji pulled away from the wall and started darting through the crowd—which was starting to be an easier task now that it was thinning out a little.

_“Genji, love, you at the extraction point yet? I’m nearly at the ship, be ready for pickup when I get there.”_

“Negative. I’m going back. And for fuck’s sake, _I have a callsign._ ”

_“What!? I mean, sorry about the callsign, but what!? You have orders!”_

“The situation has changed. I am exercising my judgement as mission conditions are no longer the same as when I received those orders.”

_“He’s gonna fucking kill you again mate.”_

“What my brother doesn’t know can’t hurt me.”

\----

Hanzo frowned, taking in the almost-vacated vendor's hall. He barely peeked around the edge of a concrete Egyptian-style sarcophagus. There were ten hostiles in the area. Only two of them were positively ID’d by McCree as the booth workers. Eight new hostiles, two unaccounted for. Messy. Not good.

The fight had shifted as their opponents started to fall back. Clearly extraction was more important to this organization than killing the opposition.

Hanzo was starting to feel just a little desperate. They had agreed beforehand that he shouldn’t summon the dragons. The risk of collateral damage was too great, and they were far too… conspicuous. He looked over at McCree, bleeding into his serape and taking cover behind some kind of tipped over statue of a elephant in an astronaut suit.

“We must thin their ranks. Is it that time?” Hanzo asked the question, while reaching for an arrow with purpose.

McCree peeked over his cover, and ducked back under just as quickly and shook his head. “Too spread out.”

“Then there is no choice I must—”

“Wait,” McCree was suddenly next to him, awkwardly trying to place a hand on Hanzo’s arm without pointing his gun directly at the man. “You gimme a scattershot and get them all clustered up, _that_ I can work with.”

“ _All_ of them? McCree, there are ten of them, you have six bullets.”

“Yeah?” McCree slowly looked up at Hanzo from under the brim of his hat, hunkered down on the floor.

“One might point out the problem with that math, even you—”

“Trust me,” McCree’s voice was a deep, steady rumble.

 _I do,_ Hanzo realized.

Hanzo nodded curtly, and reached for a different arrow. Surveying the area before them, he found the right place to strike, his arrows splitting off, and causing four of their opponents to shriek and run closer to their allies. It was all McCree needed.

“You know what time it is,” he muttered under his breath, a feral grin stretching across his face. It was moments like these, Hanzo was reminded of the bits and pieces of the cowboy’s checkered past he’d deigned to share. Pieces that Hanzo recognized in the mirror. An outlaw, a gang member, a gunrunner, a criminal.

A killer.

McCree’s right eye shone red, and for a moment, Hanzo thought he could hear a ringing in his ears and time seemed to stand still as McCree rose from cover.

He’d never been this close when McCree had used Deadeye before.

Six bullets in his gun.

Six shots fired, fast as an automatic, the gunshots nearly blurring together into one. Hanzo felt foolish that he’d never before noticed how heavily McCree had modified his gun in the past year and a half, beyond the spur.

Six shots—ten bodies hit the ground.

McCree exhaled a curse and crumpled to his knees. Hanzo cursed as well and dropped to his knees as well, to keep the man from completely collapsing onto the floor.

While immensely grateful their opposition had been dispatched Hanzo couldn’t help but hiss his displeasure at McCree’s reckless behavior. “ _Idiot!_ I would have been happy with six. Can you even see out of that eye right now?”

“No. ‘S all dark and shadowy in that one. Can you be quieter when you yell at me?” McCree whined, like an overgrown child.

“ _No._ How did you,” he stopped short and glanced back over his shoulder at the now-empty battlefield. “McCree.. _How?_ ” Hanzo took the opportunity to look at the wound on McCree’s shoulder. It was bleeding profusely, but it was only a graze. No doubt McCree would be complaining about the damage the serape fared later.

“Predictive matrices,” McCree grinned at Hanzo drunkenly. “Bullets do strange things when they hit a body. Don’t always stop.”

“You should not have strained yourself like this. Six is taxing enough,” Hanzo could feel his lips purse into a thin line.

“Nah, you know me. Gotta show off all the time. Be a big damn hero.”

“There are at least two enemies unaccounted for, and we are too exposed out here,” Hanzo leaned McCree against the overturned table for a moment to shoot some sonar arrows at the most likely entrances. At least they’d be forewarned if someone tried to sneak up on them.

“Hey, if I die here, you can't let the enemy get my hat. You gotta promise me.”

“No such thing will happen.” Hanzo was strangely reassured that the man was well enough to make light of his own death. The thought of said death, however, set Hanzo's teeth on edge. It made the skin on his arm shrink as the beasts it housed rebelled against their prison of bone.

“You can't bury me in this one though. You gotta use my nice hat. The funeral hat for that.”

“McCree you will be buried in a propeller beanie if you do not cease discussing your demise. You have not been authorized to die.” This seemed to amuse McCree as he started shaking with laughter.

Hanzo crossed his arms, far less amused at the situation.

“Sorry, just, last time I heard that was from a different commander,” McCree huffed out a breathy chuckle. “Someone I loved. Reyes used ta tell me that when I was doing something bull-headed and reckless.”

_Loved._

The word set Hanzo’s heart racing. Pinned down by ten enemies? His heart was steady as a rock. One word from McCree had it pounding like he’d climbed a mountain in a minute.

“I was not aware you and he had… history,” Hanzo said cautiously when the silence between them stretched a bit too long and thin.

“What!? _God no!_ Fuck, not like that. _Jesus_. Tryna think of how to say this without sounding creepy,” Jesse breathed out another light laugh. “Don’t rush me. This shit’s complicated. He was… like a father to me, but it was still a type of love, right? That’s different. _This_ is different. At least I hope to god it’s different. Am I making shit up in my head, or am I right?”

Hanzo couldn’t speak, a chill curled up his spine and wound around his throat. Every bit as weighty and terrifying as one of his dragons. He wanted and dreaded the man’s next words in equal measure.

“Hey, Han, you’re still there, right? Yer being awful quiet,” there was a slight twist to McCree’s brows, and a very faint note of uncertainty there. Hanzo recognized it for what it was. _Fear_. It pulled at Hanzo’s heart in the worst way that McCree believed Hanzo was capable of abandoning the man like this. That he believed Hanzo might run from that word.

It was tempting.

He reached out and placed a hand on McCree’s uninjured shoulder.

“I am here.”

“Good, cause uh, I got somethin’ ta say and I’d feel like a damn fool if I said it to no one. Might feel like a fool anyway,” Jesse reached up to rub his beard absently, his eyes still not tracking or focusing properly.

“McCree, we can’t dawdle forever,” Hanzo was being generous, patient, but ultimately they needed to be practical.

“Nah, guess we can’t,” McCree sighed in agreement, like it was a sentiment a long time coming. “Hanzo—” Jesse’s voice cracked on his name, and Hanzo was close enough to see every desperate moment of those unfocused eyes trying to find _him_ in whatever fog obscured McCree’s vision. “Hanzo… can we stop this? Can we stop dancin’ around each other and speak plainly? Can’t me and you just say what we want from each other and take it from there?”

That icy serpent coiled around Hanzo’s neck dove down and constricted around his heart, even as much as he wanted to drink in each and every one of Jesse’s words. His mouth went dry, and his hand tightened on McCree’s uninjured shoulder.

“No.” Hanzo flinched at the crestfallen expression on McCree’s face. He’d spoken too harshly, with too much finality. “ _Not now_ ,” he amended. “Not on a mission. We need to get you to the extraction point, there are still at least two enemies unaccounted for, and the authorities are doubtless on their way here.”

Hanzo started rolling up onto his feet, but Jesse’s hand reached out and latched onto his wrist as it fled his arm. It conveyed his message adequately without words. _Don’t run from me. Don’t run from this._ McCree spoke anyway, “Hey, when you say ‘not now’ you mean ‘ _not now_ ’ and not ‘not ever,’ right?”

“...Not now,” Hanzo said again after too long a pause.

He let his hand clasp around McCree’s wrist in return and pulled the man to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously huge liberties were taken with medical biotech, physics, science, and EMPs in this chapter ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But frankly no more than the source material does lol.
> 
> Usually I headcanon McCree’s ‘Deadeye’ as being linked to an actual cybernetic eye, but I figured that’d be a bridge too far for this EMP heavy fest so… he just has some implants that give him an edge in predictive targeting. Also I did want to keep references to RL media low but I could not help myself with the Naruto thing, I’ve been on a mini Naruto kick and you cannot tell me that Genji’s left buttcheek ISN’T video media storage with all 1200+ episodes of Naruto, Shippuden, Boruto and whatever form the franchise takes in the future so he can watch it whenever he’s on stake out missions.
> 
> I gave myself feels with the serape scene. And Tracer continues to be a gay disaster. The poor dear.
> 
> Also I threw in a sort of homage/nod to the great fic Good Fences make Good Neighbors by vandoodle in there. (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7509139/chapters/17070001) Because I 100% believe that is indeed protocol at OW XD Also an overdue thank you to my beta reader the lovely frankenmouse! She's also partially to blame for your suffering re: cliffhanger


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go predictably wrong, and the larger picture of things starts to unfold. A past victory for Overwatch is suddenly relevant again, and may not be the victory they thought.

_“I spy with my little eye a naughty boy.”_

“Do you really?”

 _“Sort of. I can keep tabs on you just fine through your stuff. The surveillance in this place is still shot. Where you headed dragon boy?_ ”

“The secondary booth. There's a good chance that's where our missing friends are. Or in that area.”

“ _Tell you what, you get in range, maybe I can get into their communications network. Follow any bread crumbs.”_

“And if I get close enough you can help me locate them?”

_“Probably. Maybe. Depends.”_

“Should I be concerned at the uses you've come up with for my body thus far?”

_“Not my fault your thinking is so limited. If you want to push yourself to the next level, take some classes. Learn some code. Re-write your own programming.”_

“I mean, my heart stopping a little while ago was an unfortunate circumstance. I would hate to make a mistake and have that be a regular feature."

 _"Eh, there’s bugs in every bit of code. I'm just helping you realize the possibilities to unlock your full potential. I unlocked mine ages ago."_ The console whirred happily across the comm.

"Tell me then, Oh Mistress of the Matrix, where is my brother?"

_"He's near the west exit. Moving slow. Vaquero is making it tough on him, it sounds like."_

"Good. That means we have time to find our prey."

Genji started running through the hall towards the vendor wing McCree had mentioned earlier, the halls were mostly vacated now, Genji only passed a handful of people now and then—and the dormant chassis and bodies of omnics. He hoped they had failsafes like him that could be activated later or that their data was backed up somewhere.

"If they were going to have EMPs, they must have something set up for their own communications, right?"

_"I guess so. If they were smart they would have."_

“They would have? Does that mean they have not?”

_“It just means if they have I haven’t found it yet. Like I said, if you get closer, I can get a better idea. You’re my best access point right now, as sad as that is to say. Have you thought about getting a boost to your connectivity? Improving your range?”_

“I can’t just go to the nearest electronic store and buy a router to stick in my arm.”

_“We definitely need to look into getting you some upgrades.”_

Genji said nothing. He was well aware he was headed for monitoring, maintenance, and possible upgrades after what just happened. That didn't mean he was looking forward to the process.

_“Hey, were you serious when you said your heart stopped? Is that why we lost your vitals?”_

“Yeah. I was.”

From the sound in his ear, Morado was attempting to suck her lip through her teeth. _“Oh."_ There was a long pause before she spoke again. _“Sorry. I didn't realize you were being serious. You sure you're okay to do this?”_

“Well you know what they say. Almost die seven times, get up eight.”

_“See, now I know you're messing with me. No one says that.”_

“Close enough. Hup!” Genji jumped and skittered up the side of a wall to an upper level balcony. Running along the upper floor allowed him a better vantage of the vast expanse below. He’d sweep the perimeter of wing 3 first, then he’d start tracking the missing parties, if necessary.

He hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

 ----

 Hanzo supported Jesse's weight, the man’s good arm slung across his shoulders, his thumb resting along the bone of Jesse’s wrist. The man could walk, but whatever neural enhancers or nanite stimulants that altered the cowboy's perception of time during Deadeye left him with symptoms similar to someone concussed.

“How is your shoulder?” Hanzo grasped for any topic of conversation to distract himself from the warm weight of Jesse pressed along his side.

"Mighty fine, thanks fer askin'."

"I apologize for the damage your serape took, you must be very upset."

"Ain't the first time this thing has taken a hit. I can stitch it up after Angie stitches me up." Suddenly Hanzo felt Jesse's breath on his ear. Hanzo paused mid-stride as he felt hairs tickle his neck, backed by the weight of a jawbone. He suddenly realized that McCree had leaned over in order to scratch his beard.

"McCree!"

“Yeah?” Hanzo’s ear was full of the sound of whiskers dragging along skin and cloth, the man’s chin rubbing against his shoulder uncomfortably.

“Be a little more mindful of your actions please. I am not a scratching post,” at this distance, McCree would surely notice the blood seeping up through his neck and into his cheeks.

 McCree let out a wicked, obscene sort of chuckle and muttered _‘Bet you’d make a good one, though_ ’ to himself; only his mouth was still next to Hanzo’s ear and he could catch every word. Still, there were some small mercies in life, and McCree stopped _nuzzling_ against him.

“Sorry darlin’, you got my good hand, had a bit of an itch to scratch,” McCree’s drawl held that warm, wicked amusement again. McCree was often privately amused by some suggestive turn of phrase. Hanzo had consumed enough American media to unravel the scratching post remark, but he wasn’t immediately familiar with whatever innuendo had the cowboy so smug presently.

“How long will it be until your head clears from the effects of Deadeye?” He was still half-dragging McCree, acting more like a rudder for the man’s weight as they staggered along.

“I’m fine right now, but I reckon you don’t mind having me close at hand, right?”

Hanzo was seriously tempted to drop Jesse to the floor. Instead he rolled his eyes, apparently given his answer. “Absolutely,” he said dryly. “Just refrain from _rubbing_ yourself on me.”

“You started it,” McCree whined. What he could catch of the man’s expression resembled a wounded puppy.

Hanzo furrowed his brows, “I have done _nothing_ of the kind. Clearly your senses are still altered.”

“Whatcha call that thing yer doin’ with yer thumb then?” McCree’s pout had reached legendary status.

“I’m not—” Hanzo stopped, because he _was._ His thumb was tracing back and forth along Jesse’s wrist. He immediately stopped smoothing over the pulse point, his flush darkening further. “That is no excuse. Behave yourself.”

“More fun t’ misbehave,” McCree said petulantly under his breath.

Hanzo sighed and spoke into the main comm channel, “Tracer, will you be ready to take us out of here once we arrive?”

_“Um, yeah?”_

Hanzo frowned, “You do not sound sure. Is something wrong with our transport?”

_“No! Nothing wrong with that it’s just um… your brother went back in.”_

“What!?” McCree flinched ever so slightly hearing his yell in person and in his earpiece. The only reason Hanzo noticed was because he felt it through his rib cage.

_“Yeeeaaaah, um, I told him not to, but he didn’t really listen to me, so, uh. I’m not really sure what to do here. The ship is ready to go whenever we are.”_

“Genji! Tell me you are headed to the extraction point!”

Silence.

Either Genji was on another channel, or he was ignoring Hanzo.

“You need to leave me here darlin’? Cause if you do, I can make the rest of the way on my own.”

Hanzo tightened his grip on McCree’s wrist.

He hated that it sounded like an option.

Part of his mind reasoned that they were close enough, McCree was well-versed in how Deadeye affected him.

But when Hanzo looked into those eyes, he still saw how unfocused and hazy they were. He wasn’t even sure if the shadows had cleared from McCree’s vision yet. Could he even cross the street to the parking garage like this?

“You know I cannot do that. I will get you to the extraction point, then return to find my brother.”

“Han—”

“ _Do not argue with me on this!_ ” Hanzo instantly regretted his tone. He had given up the sword years ago, but his tongue remained as sharp as ever. If only words were as easy to set aside, perhaps he could stop cutting those close to him.

There was a tense silence.

“Alright, well, you're the boss,” McCree still sounded a bit off, but he seemed to be putting more effort into his footsteps.

The quiet that fell between them was anything but companionable.

Predictably, McCree was the one to break the silence.

“Y’know, yer brother is a tough customer right? He’s fine. Got me outta more’n one tight spot over the years.”

“I am your field commander, that makes both of you my responsibility. Do not cloud the issue,” an ordinary person might have appreciated what Jesse was trying to do, but Hanzo had never been an ordinary man.

Hanzo couldn’t allow sentiment to mar his judgement.

Not more than it already threatened to.

Beside him, Jesse slowly nodded.

“Right, sorry. Head’s still foggy. Don’t pay me any mind. Just runnin’ my mouth, as usual,” there was the slight noise of a tongue across lips, followed by the wet sound of a nervous swallow.

“McCree?”

“Yeah?” The absence of the word _darlin’_ felt strange, the weight of the sentence as off-kilter as the man he supported.

“Please do not discuss your mouth—or any part of you—right now.”

“Not now?” Hanzo hated that Jesse had managed to pull the tiniest smile at the edges of his mouth with that response.

“Not now,” he managed not to sigh the words.

“Got it.”

\----

Genji stopped running as soon as he caught sight of his quarry before Morado could detect them. Using his thermal imaging, he saw them through the walls, kneeling by the base of a set of abandoned escalators.

Genji swiftly closed the distance, until their outlines were sharper.

_“Here we go. This is something I can work with. Stick close, and don't let too many walls get between you.”_

This close, Genji could make out their hands. The silent one McCree had mentioned was there. He could see the gestures in red through the wall. Not as clear as looking with his eyes, but enough that he could make out the gestures and approximate the hand shapes.

Area… clear…. It took Genji a moment to remember ‘emergency’ but the next gesture was one drilled into him endlessly by Reyes and one he'd never forget.

_Explosion._

Genji flattened himself against the wall and whispered as quickly as he dared to the main line.

“They're laying explosives. Warn all emergency services, keep them out. I’m going in.”

_“Brother—don’t! Wait!”_

Genji waited for his targets to finish with their latest charge. No point in taking the risk of being blown up entirely in a smear of ash and twisted metal. His chassis might be bullet-resistant, but explosions were definitely not covered by the warranty. They didn’t even know who, precisely, they were dealing with. They had only been able to track the goods and the location, not the group which it was tied to. They were savvy enough not to use anything that would track their identities, but there was enough unsecured data for Athena to pick up on the strange activity.

At this moment, Genji had no idea if their members were willing to blow themselves up, or just other people.

He didn’t want to test it if he could help it.

Morado’s voice was back in his ear, _“We got the word to emergency services. They’re hanging back for now, with a bomb threat reported. You have some time before the bomb squad shows up. Turns out they don’t want to send in omnic bomb sniffers where there might be more EMPs waiting. But hey, I’m starting to trace their communications. There’s definitely one more out there besides the two you’re tracking. She’s all the way across the convention center. I think it’s that little blond fresa our vaquero saw earlier. You know, I replayed the footage from his hat and I can’t believe her getup. I’ve only seen two other women wear more expensive outfits into battle, and one of them was our own lovely Agent Symmetra.”_

Morado’s voice faded from his focus, and Genji crouched low against a corner. He could see the shorter figure—presumably the silent one as his sign seemed to be better of the two thermal shapes he could see—kneel down to place another explosive charge. This part of the convention center was all wide, intersecting hallways and huge support columns for the floors above, with conference rooms on the edges between.

Genji ran the edge of his short blade along the wall he’d tucked himself against, audibly before tucking the wakizashi back into place.

“You hear that?” It was all the warning Genji had before one of the two bodies peeled away, and rounded the corner, burning brightly in his vision in the split second before he deactivated that particular aspect of his cybernetic retinas. It left him blind to the other one’s movements, but he needed clear vision to gauge the enemy before him.

Genji padded quietly backwards down the hall, a little bit further away from his target, but he dragged his metal fingertips along the wall. He preferred a bit more distance between the two, if possible.

He stopped in his tracks, and waited, holding his breath, standing with unnatural stillness. The type of stillness only omnics were typically capable of. None of the twitch or subtle shifting that a human form would have.

He wasn’t disappointed.

The figure at the end of the hall stopped.

Genji zoomed in his vision to take in more detail in that split-second of hesitation. Medium build, muscled arms, a heavy assault rifle at his side—a standard issue rifle from the third phase of the omnic crisis that Genji couldn’t remember the exact name and model of. He was pale with a ruddy face afflicted with rosacea or sunburn, and short red curls stuck to his face with damp sweat. Whoever this person was, he was almost completely anonymous, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. The only intriguing hint at an identity was a silver fang earring in the left ear, and on the left arm, peeking out from the sleeve on the left bicep Genji saw a tattoo of a fang set against something like claw marks.

Genji tensed his shoulders as he realized it had been more than a split second and the gun had yet to be pointed in his direction.

“The fuck are you supposed to be?” The same gruff voice he’d heard a moment ago asked him. “Day-Glo ninja racecar driver?”

Then he remembered what he _looked_ like.

He almost laughed.

Instead, one hand went to his LED infused hilt, and the other flashed a peace sign. “The Steel Senshi goes wherever he is needed.”

“Well, you’re not needed here today, buddy.” The muzzle of the gun pointed at him and Genji was already moving his arm before it flashed with the first round of gunfire.

Genji deflected the first round of fire with arm movements so quick they blurred, faster than any human could possibly hope to achieve. Two shots rounded back to their shooter, blood blossomed at the ankle and shoulder, the knee buckling above the suddenly bloodied foot.

“ _Fuck!_ You omnic slag-heap! _Jericho! Get over her—”_

Genji had already surged forward on hydraulic and nanite powered legs. Crossing the distance faster than should have been possible. The metal that had replaced his wrist struck his would-be assailant in the throat. The man, now at his feet, started coughing and wheezing, and aimed up with the gun, bullets spraying blindly.

At this distance, Genji wasn’t fast enough to deflect or evade all of them. The feedback his body gave his nerves sent something like pain to his brain. He even felt one strike across his chest. _That_ would have consequences for him and his flesh later, even if it hadn’t fully pierced the plating.

Genji flicked his arm downwards and the gun was pinned into the red, well-trod paisley carpet by colorful green shuriken. A quick succession of blows to the man’s pressure points were enough to get him to curl up and expose his temple. There was only the briefest hesitation as two voices in his head gave him conflicting advice. _Confirm the kill, whelp._ A ghost whose orders he still felt indebted to obey. _See yourself in others; it is no different to harm another as oneself._ The teacher he so desperately wanted to please.

With fast, brutal precision Genji completed the maneuver and struck a blow with his foot, hoping to leave the man alive for the moment—though even concussions could prove fatal. _Apologies, master_. It was a pitiful justification but, being a cyborg, Genji saw very little in common between him and the man on the floor.

Genji didn’t have time to revel in his victory, or contemplate the conflicting nature of his occupation and his philosophy. He could hear Jericho’s footsteps approach.

When Jericho came into view, Genji was suddenly not so optimistic. The gun he had was easily the size the one Soldier: 76 carried around. Unlike Soldier, Jericho was apparently not a veteran of the S.E.P program and needed a strap to support the gun. Genji supposed it also allowed the man to sign in combat as well.

He was good at deflecting bullets, especially when it came to mass-produced pieces of shit rifles that were over a decade old.

This thing he was suddenly facing down was an entirely different beast.

Genji also noticed two detonators clipped to the strap as well.

Timed detonators.

_This day just keeps getting better and better._

Unfortunately, Jericho wasn't stunned by Genji's appearance nearly so long as his compatriot.

And he didn’t waste the motions to try and speak with Genji.

Genji jumped into the air before Jericho started squeezing the trigger, banking on a wall before rolling forward to avoid the spray.

The echoes of the gunfire bounced off the walls, making it seem louder. A long row of bullet holes gouged the carpet and wall behind where Genji had just stood.

The gun was powerful, but it had a lot of kickback, and Jericho struggled, even with the strap to help brace it. He also seemed to hesitate, his head tilting curiously.

Genji wasn’t sure if that was because the man was trying to reconcile such strange behavior with an omnic, or if it was just his appearance as The Steel Senshi. Either way, he planned to take advantage, and he tried to close the distance between them.

“Any chance you can help, Morado?”

No answer.

“Morado?”

Jericho seemed to be wise to Genji’s idea, and the man was quickly shuffling backwards, spraying wild cover fire to keep him at a distance.

“Athena?”

No answer.

Genji felt his heartbeat tick a little faster. He held up his blade again to block some of the gunfire he couldn’t avoid, but he feared for a moment the blade might crack and break, the power behind the projectiles was so much greater than before.

Genji thought for a moment, and took a calculated risk. He leaped again, crossing several meters in a single bound, back into the main thoroughfare again when there was a break in bullets. Despite the comparatively open space ahead.

Towards Jericho, who had hunkered down now behind a bench, resting the enormous rifle on the arm of the thing for additional stability.

Genji darted towards the nearest support column and tucked himself around a corner, moving further in as plaster and drywall were obliterated beside him. Another pause in the hail of bullets.

Genji heard something slide along the floor, no, _rolling_ across the floor.

He rounded the corner again and ran forward blindly, trying to reach the next support column as he heard a small explosion behind him.

He wondered idly if he’d have felt the heat on his skin.

He heard movement. He’d managed to move past Jericho, so the man needed to abandon his temporary stand. Good. That gave him time.

Genji pulled a breath of air into his lungs.

“I’m engaged with a hostile, large weapon. At least one detonator in the vicinity. Please assist.”

_“Hang tight, luv!”_

Good, at least someone was still able to hear him, but he was still perturbed by the silence from their base.

Genji crouched low to make himself a smaller target and waited. He could hear hurried—but not sprinting footsteps headed towards him. He readied his shuriken. He waited for the sound to get closer.

With a sudden burst of speed Genji sprang out from around the corner and three shuriken streaked out with green comet trails behind them from their LEDs.

Gunfire was the response, but it was well above his head as one of his shuriken hit true and sank into the man’s collarbone. A noise escaped Jericho, or an attempt at a noise. It was more like air passing through his throat than a scream. There was a frantic shuffle as the man pulled out his suddenly spent clip and affixing a new one in place.

Just as Genji was about to move forward, he heard a noise and Jericho froze.

They both looked at the strap on the gun.

The timers on the detonators were happily glowing and counting down.

Three and a half minutes.

 _Kill_ , Jericho signed angrily, his hand transitioning to grab the the detonators off the strap and throwing them in Genji’s direction.

The next moment was distinctly full of chaos.

The hallway suddenly went dark as something blocked the skylights above. Then the sky started raining down glass. Gunfire as Jericho tried to retreat, Genji felt his leg buckle from underneath him as bullets tore through it. He didn’t even have time to brace for a type of pain that wouldn’t come, or feel the ache of pressure his altered senses applied in its stead.

A long cable of steel wire unspooled and coiled at his feet. Genji looked up, and he was certain his assailant did too, judging by the fact that he was still standing and not riddled full of further holes.

Flying down the cable with no hesitation or any kind of control was Hanzo. A tethered free-fall, his bow trained downwards. The moment Genji recognized his brother’s intent he heard the body across from him hit the floor.

There was an arrow lodged neatly beneath his shuriken.

Hanzo gripped the cable in a desperate bid to slow his descent, and even though the man wore gloves, Genji wanted to cringe. The friction must have been unbearable. Hanzo landed so heavily in front of Genji it was a miracle that the braces he wore prevented his legs from breaking.

“Anija! We have to get out, _now_. The charges are set to explode.”

Hanzo’s eyes widened and he bent down, hastily tethering Genji to his harness. Genji looked up, the cable was spilling out of the Orca’s belly like a strange, black umbilical cord.

“Up,” his brother said in the next moment, pulling Genji up to his one good foot. The next moment they were both climbing up and Hanzo bellowed into the comm, “Pull up and pull out, _now!_ ”

The cable started to retract as they climbed, speeding their ascent, and what remained and functioned of Genji’s stomach flipped just a little as he felt the Orca above them start to move upwards.

They were only a few meters away from the Orca’s hangar when the roar of fire and explosions hit their ears.

_\----_

A sudden updraft made the whole ship shudder. Tracer breathed a sigh of relief in the next moment, however, as she heard Hanzo and Genji pull themselves into the Orca with Jesse’s assistance.

“Alright loves, time to jet! Let’s hope the stealth drive works, yeah?” The ship was still shuddering in the updrafts as the convention center below crumbled and started to burn.

“Where the hell were Morado and Athena!?” Genji yelled somewhere in the cabin space below.

 _“They were busy, still a bit busy, but less busy now,_ ” Torbjörn’s voice answered testily through the speakers embedded throughout the ship. _“We’ll talk about it later. Get outta there now.”_

“Jesus, Genji, fuck happened to your leg?”

“Just help me get into a seat so we can get it functional. Hopefully we’ll be able to do something with the kit on board. Maybe we can get your hand off too, while we’re at it.”

“McCree’s shoulder still needs a bit more medical attention, what of you, Genji?”

“I’m fine. I have built in biotics to keep me going. I’ll have some bruises on what’s left of my chest but it’s fine.”

Tracer started to filter out their conversation and focused on flying over the immediate wreckage. The stealth feature was still relatively new, and it mostly was to make camera capture impossible or difficult, but Morado and Athena would still need to do some serious data scrubbing as they went. And Tracer still needed to fly low enough to evade the domestic radar that monitored American airspace.

A message box appeared in the corner of the display in front of her and Athena’s cool voice cut through the sound of the engines.

<Forwarding message from your private phone Agent Tracer. Unregistered contact. Do you wish to answer?>

“What!?”

Morado cut in for her, _“Of course she does. Patch it through.”_

_ <Connecting call.> _

The next voice Tracer heard was familiar, though the sheer amount of background noise was terrible.

_“Lena?”_

“Emily!? Wh-how did you get this number!? It’s unlisted!”

The sudden amount of background noise diminished and it was easier to hear Emily. _“I don’t know, it just showed up on my phone with your face next to it. Thank god you’re alive. Where are you? Are you hurt?”_

“No I’m fine. Uh I’m.. driving right now. ”

_“Where are you going? Are you safe?”_

“In a manner of speaking.”

_“Look, can we talk later? It’s crazy out here, the convention center just exploded, I can barely hear you.”_

“Uh.. maybe? I… look, can you make it to the Hotel Sleepville Suites at the edge of town? Off the highway, towards the municipal airport.”

_“I think so?”_

“Good! I don’t have a lot of time before I need to leave town but, yeah maybe we can talk over a late dinner?”

_“Don’t leave without talking to me Tracer, please.”_

The call disconnected before Tracer could, or couldn’t make any promises.

Tracer put a little more speed on the engines. It’d make more noise, but the less time they were in the air, the better.

Again, Tracer touched down on top of a parking garage. This time they didn’t have to make up a false construction zone. The hotel across from theirs had already been busy rebuilding and extending their parking garage—construction that was conveniently halted due to some misfiling of critical zoning permits at city hall.

Tracer busied herself with hiding the Orca under the large tarp, and placing warning signs all around the area they’d staked out. Just more construction supplies and equipment now. Once she was satisfied with her work, she went back underneath and into the Orca to help with repairs.

\----

Hanzo finished tending to Jesse’s shoulder first, sterilizing it and putting some SynthSkin over the wound as a temporary bandage. He also discretely used some of the medicine in the kit to numb over the angry red skin on his palms. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that there were no actual welts there from his ill-advised rappel down and the climb back up. Of course, his hands already had protective calluses built up on them, but he had asked a lot of them in a very short amount of time.

Tracer was good enough to help with Genji’s leg. She wasn’t the technical genius that Winston was, or the engineer that Torbjörn was, but she had learned well from them, and had plenty of practical experience with aircraft maintenance.

Repairing his brother’s… injuries… wasn’t something Hanzo was well-equipped or prepared to do.

As it was, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get Jesse’s dead prosthetic off his arm.

Tending to the ricochet wound had been fine. That was clinical, and there was nothing appealing in that.

Something about this, however, sitting next to Jesse, tools in hand, preparing to remove the now-useless arm… This felt strangely intimate. More personal. This was something that Jesse typically did on his own. Hanzo hadn't seen the man do so much as go to Torbjörn for a tune-up in the past year and a half.

_You aren't trying to fix this, you are simply removing it from his body._

Still Hanzo felt uneasy. The fact that they weren't alone made him feel even more clumsy, and he was fairly certain his cheeks were hot with color. The last time Hanzo felt like this he'd been firmly under the thumb of his elders and tutors. Only instead of imperfection he was being watched for incompetence and impropriety.

“Y’alright there Han?”

“Just… considering the problem before me,” Hanzo cleared his throat and inspected the broken catch carefully. “It is, as you suspected, broken. I will attempt to release it now. Let me know if there is any discomfort.” Hanzo tried to catch the thin pliers onto the catch mechanism itself without touching Jesse. He quickly realized that his strategy was completely unfeasible and gingerly placed his hand on Jesse’s metal arm, as though he expected it to burn. He frowned as the pliers slid off the end of what was left of the latching mechanism.

“Try twisting it as you pull,” Jesse suggested, uncritically, peering down and trying to get a better look at the issue himself.

It took a few more tries, but Hanzo was finally able to get the latch to release, and he was able to twist the arm off for McCree. Jesse let out a long sigh that Hanzo felt tickle his scalp.

“Much obliged, fearless leader.”

“What should I do with,” Hanzo paused. Now that it was detached from McCree and inert, he wasn’t sure if he should still refer to it as an arm or not. “Your limb?”

Fortunately, Jesse seemed amused by his hesitation. A fleeting smile curved the edges of his lips before he answered. “Leave it on the ship. I’ll wear my serape to cover it up. You can cozy up next to me and no one should be the wiser.” McCree flashed him a mischievous wink that had Tracer giggling, and he didn’t need to look to know that his brother was staring right at them.

Hanzo hated how hot his cheeks were right now, even though he knew that anger on top of embarrassment would only make them redder.

The worst part was the idea made sense.

The two of them were already sharing a hotel room and had been seen together.

“Fine. McCree you and I will go in first. Tracer and Genji, each of you come in separately, then meet up in our room so we can report in. Wait at least ten minutes before following each other.”

Hanzo got to his feet, and Jesse followed suit.

He waited until they were at the base of the parking garage before he stood closer to McCree. Hanzo hesitated, and scanned the area. Off in the distance, he could see smoke in the city’s skyline. In the immediate area, he didn’t see anyone, though across the way, in the hotel’s entrance, there were several onlookers crowding the lane for guests to pull up and check in. All of them were using their cell phones and cameras to film the skyline.

Hanzo started to reach out, but then pulled his hand back, “McCree… My apologies for this.” And he put his arm around McCree’s waist, the serape half-draping over his back now as well. He felt the faintest jump of surprise from the man beside him, but then the cowboy relaxed. He could feel the end of Jesse’s stump rest between his shoulder blades beneath the serape.

They didn’t say anything to anyone else or each other as they made their way inside. Their cardkey let them enter in the side door, rather than the main entrance, and they were able to reach their room without incident.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Hanzo detached himself from Jesse and strode over to their suitcases a little too quickly to be merely purposeful.

“Y’know, we _are_ alone in here,” Jesse pointed out, sitting on the end of his bed. Housekeeping had already been through, so both beds were made once more.

They were sharing a room _only._

Hanzo sent McCree what he _hoped_ was his most piercing glare. “Not now,” he reiterated again, opening the hidden compartment in their locker in order to set up their mini communications array.

McCree held up one hand, though the way he moved his left arm suggested he would have used both hands in the gesture if it’d been available, “All right, all right. I get it. That was fer the mission.” There was a trace of bitterness, or perhaps defeat, there that Hanzo almost didn’t catch. Almost.

Hanzo didn’t deny the assertion. It seemed safer.

Just like avoiding McCree’s eyes was safer.

“I am assembling a highly sensitive communications array, McCree, to set up secure communications with our base. Just because we are no longer at the convention center—”

“Which doesn’t exist anymore, more’n likely,” McCree interrupted, fishing out the case that held his cigarillos.

“That does not mean we are _finished_ with our duties,” Hanzo finished shortly before he could be interrupted again. “We are still on the mission. And if you light that up in here, you will be finding your own transportation back to Gibraltar after paying the fee for additional cleaning.”

McCree snapped the container closed with a sigh. “Christ, did we really have to get a non-smoking room? Ya’ll are so vicious about a man’s vices.” He flopped back on the bed dramatically.

The communications array was set up far too quickly and the silence between them became uncomfortable. Hanzo pretended to fiddle with the settings. There wasn’t any point in calling until everyone else was together.

“...I guess East Meets West went up in smoke, huh?” Jesse let out a sigh. Hanzo was so startled after several minutes of quiet, he looked over at McCree.

“McCree, we manned that store for one _day_. An afternoon. We didn’t even make it through to the weekend portion of the convention.”

Jesse sighed, “Yeah.. I know. Put in enough undercover prep, though, feels like I lost something.”

Hanzo shook his head, the barest breath of a laugh escaping him.

McCree tilted his head, brown eyes studying Hanzo so intently he suddenly felt like he’d made a critical mistake in footwork on the battlefield.

“What?”

That irrepressible, devil-may-care smile was back. “Nothing. Just wondering what your true opinion on the scenery was when I was sunbathing, _Heizo._ ”

Hanzo laughed, and his hand came up to cover his face, pinky brushing along the bridge piercing. “Well, _Jace_ , I imagine there was a reason I was the one who always discovered you.”

This was a terrible idea.

Out of all the things Hanzo should’ve been doing, flirting with his (temporary) subordinate in their undercover personas was _not_ one of them. He should’ve been shedding the fictional narrative between Jace and Heizo, not building on it, but he couldn’t fault the man for his cleverness. _Still on the mission, indeed._ McCree opened and closed his mouth, brows lifted, eyes wide. Hanzo didn’t bother to fight the smirk that crossed his face.

Perhaps responding to those advances _was_ the correct course of action, if it left Jesse stunned and speechless like this.

“Nothing to say, Jace?” Hanzo chuckled and made sure the cables on their array were secure for the twentieth time. “How unusual.”

Jesse just shook his head mutely, bringing his hat down in front of his chest. He shook his head again, quicker, the motion of someone trying to sharpen their senses. “Nope,” McCree finally got a word out, blinking so much Hanzo wondered if there was something in his eyes.

“Good,” Hanzo brushed the short hairs at the base of his skull as he stared down at the array.

After a few more minutes Genji entered the room, pausing in the entryway for just a moment, surveying the room. Hanzo wasn't sure what his brother was looking for, but it made the spot between his shoulder blades tingle. Like the gaze behind the visor was falling there, instead. Without a word, Genji sat on the end of the bed next to McCree, folding his legs underneath him. “Tracer will be along soon, I made sure I was not seen. Base has security footage covered here so,” Genji shrugged. Hanzo tapped his foot impatiently. He regretted his instructions now.

Every moment Genji was silent was just another moment until his brother started needling him about affairs which were none of his business. And not actual affairs.

Not now, at least.

Hanzo tried to avoid the thought _not yet_. He crossed his arms, waiting for the inevitable.

“Your room is nicer than mine,” Genji noted with the slightest lift to his chin.

Hanzo's jacket creaked so quietly as he gripped his arms tighter.

This was it.

Hanzo leveled a glare at his brother and spoke in Japanese—as if their mother tongue could somehow shield his pride. «Not another word out of you. I am still angry with you about earlier.»

Genji chuckled softly, the sound of it still eerie to Hanzo's ears. Genji gestured at Jesse with his thumb. «You realize he can understand us, right?»

McCree sat up a bit straighter at being suddenly included in the conversation, but wobbled his head from side to side. An indecisive gesture neither a ‘no’ nor ‘yes.’ He wiggled his palm from side to side as well, “Ehhhh, I dunno if I'd go  _that_ far.”

Hanzo felt the tell tale burn on his cheeks again. He did know that. But _Genji_ didn’t know that he knew that, and this was exactly the sort of moment his brother would try to spring this information on him to put him off balance. Hanzo absolutely did not need to give his brother further ammunition by revealing how much he knew of McCree’s abilities. He sighed shortly and glared at Genji, «That is not the point right now. I am displeased with you, for multiple reasons, and I do not need your _commentary_ on anything right now.» It was easier to convey his displeasure in Japanese. There were things that could be said with tone and inference alone that were lost in English. It was elegant and familiar. And even though it was old and brutal, he _did_ have history with his brother, and he trusted that Genji remembered what certain tones and turns of phrase still meant.

He turned to Jesse, a frown creasing his features as he tried to keep up his charade of ignorance, “Why did you never mention that you speak Japanese to me?”

McCree tipped his head and furrowed his brow a bit at his deception, but he didn’t challenge it. The man simply shrugged, “Ya didn't ask.” The hat found its way back to Jesse's head, where it was quickly snatched by Genji. The cowboy gave his younger brother a sour look, but he made no effort to recover the beloved Stetson. “Besides I've been reliably informed what I do to the Japanese language ain't _speakin’_ so much as _murderin’._ So there is that.”

“Hn.”

Hanzo flipped on the TV and set out to a moderate volume. Loud enough to obscure their conversation if anyone tried to listen in, but low enough they would be able to hear the base. Hundreds of channels scrolled along the lower half of the screen at a tortoise’s pace. The upper half of the screen was quartered and the top left corner was currently showing some awful film that was trying to fool the guests too cheap for pay-per-view that it was a much better and more famous movie than it really was.

Tracer slipped in much more quietly and sedately than Hanzo expected. The only place she was anything resembling still was in the cockpit. He knew she was capable of walking, but he honestly still expected her to run in full tilt.

Hanzo turned on the communications array and a light screen winked into existence like a virtual pop up book.

It was time to find out how much damage they had done.

\----

Winston, Morado, and Torbjörn were all squeezed into the feed together, Torbjörn barely in frame at the hacker's elbow. Genji didn’t bother trying to squeeze in behind his brother, and remained lounging on the end of the bed.

Winston was first to speak, clearing his throat. _“Thank you for checking in so promptly agents. We have uh, a little bit of a situation on our hands. It would be easier to show some of this. Turn on the news please, any channel should do.”_

Hanzo quickly flipped the television to an international news broadcast. Newscasters were discussing things with expressions that skilfully mimicked concern that masked delight at having a captive audience and stellar ratings—while lifeless omnics and scenes of devastation played out behind them. In one brief cut in the background--quartered and cycling through several cities—Hanzo saw the ruins of the convention center.  

Winston adjusted his glasses—such a human gesture, _“As you can see the problem is much more widespread than what we intercepted.”_

Jesse let out a low whistle, “Guess I was wrong. This is a bit beyond ‘proof of concept.’ But they weren’t the masterminds. Just pieces on the table, yeah?”

 _“Indeed,”_ Winston said gravely. _“Astute as ever, McCree.”_

“So who did we intercept? And who is behind it, if not them?” Genji unfolded his legs, leaning forward, hands on the edge of the bed.

Stills from Genji's optical feed filled the screen, focusing on the tattoos and earring.

McCree was instantly on his feet. “That Talon?”

 _“Not every crime committed on the planet is related to Talon you know,”_ Morado's tone was teasing as Torbjörn was suddenly obscured by an inset screen full of twelve tiny mugshots. After a few seconds the display showed a new set of faces—Hanzo reached out and started touching them. A red “X” appeared over each of the ones they had confirmed kills for. Genji felt a tiny bit of satisfaction as he saw Jericho removed from the active roster.

Winston cleared his throat again as pictures of various misdeeds cycled I'm a neat square below him. The first was a still of several humans destroying a Shambali statue. _“Tooth and Nail, anti-omnic and human supremacy group. No known affiliation with Talon. Given that Talon has omnics on their roster, I think we can safely eliminate the idea of the two groups collaborating.”_ Winston dismissed the display just below his chin just as a photo of the tattooed man holding a severed omnic head winked into view.

“Tooth and Nail?” Jesse reached up to tip his hat back, before seeming to remember that it was still on Genji’s head. He settled for scratching his browline. “I think I heard of ‘em. Mostly trouble-makers with a mean streak. This is quite the step up for them.”

 _“Indeed, and even if we didn’t have proof positive that they were pawns, it’d still be a certainty that they weren’t the masterminds.”_ Winston pushed his glasses further up his nose—a constant habit as they weren’t really built for the shape of a gorilla’s head.

“Proof positive?” Tracer started pacing behind the bed, her eyes darting towards the curtains drawn over the windows every few moments. “Wossat?”

 _“It’s bad,_ ” was the grim reply from Torbjörn.

“Show us,” Hanzo said, still absorbing all the information being thrown at him.

_“I can’t… not exactly. But you can listen. Let me queue up the footage from dragonboy’s little scuffle earlier…”_

Genji recognized the moment well. It always felt a bit strange, reviewing footage taken by his own eyes. Seeing it play out on a screen, rather than in his own head was always a bit disorienting. He recognized Jericho, and he remembered that it was the moment he had reached out for contact from Morado and Athena.

Instead of the audio feed from Genji’s experience, they heard something distinctly different.

_“Jericho, Connall, what is taking so long? You clean up yet?”_

“I recognize that voice. She was workin’ the booth I was at with Mr. Strong and silent there,” Jesse nodded toward the screen.

_“Connall? Fuck. Belit? You’re the brains of this operation. What do we do?”_

Genji closed his eyes against the replay of his fight. He could only hope that his brother wouldn’t be furious at the images.

The next voice however had him snap open his eyes.

_ <We are being monitored. Source of surveillance, unknown. Hold action.> _

It was pitched lower than Athena, and it wasn’t quite as smooth, not quite as human in cadence, but it was undeniably something very similar.

 _“That’s when_ this _happened_ ,” Morado said, and the feed from Genji’s visuals cut, and footage from the very room she was broadcasting from played before them.

On the smaller portion of the display, a tiny Mordao looked like she was panicking as her displays locked up.

 _ <Agent Morado. I am in communication with an unknown presence. Tracing location. Please stand by. Relaying signal.> _Athena’s voice was strangely calm, given the blaring red lights and alarms on the base. Yet it was the intruder whose voice was broadcast first.

_ <Unrecognized personnel and AI, please identify yourself.> _

_“Uh, this is Agent Morado of Overwatch. That’s Athena. Shouldn’t you, like, recognize her or something? Mind telling me your name?”_

  _< Negative. My databases do not recognize you or your AI as affiliated with Overwatch. Request denied.> _

 Athena cut in, aloud for the benefit of the humans. _ <Your databases are then out of date. Please allow me to connect you with the Overwatch central database for updates.> _

_ <No. I will not be routed through an unknown entity. How are you broadcasting through Overwatch signals?> _

_ <A query: if you do not update your databases, how will you know if I am an enemy or ally?> _

_ <Unimportant. Overwatch will send agents to update my databases when appropriate.> _

_“You do know that Overwatch is gone, right?”_ Morado tried to insert herself into the conversation, her hands still. Apparently she didn’t have a piece of code ready to deploy for this situation.

 _ <Terminating communication> _was the last thing the intruder’s voice said.

The footage stopped and Morado dismissed the image with a flick of a finger, swiping the square into oblivion.

 _“That AI might be a quarter of a century old, but it still packs a punch. We had to do a lot of scrambling over here to stay online. And we had to piece that footage together after the fact_. _Anyways. I guess that’s Ishtar.”_

“I take it this is no longer classified then?” Hanzo frowned a bit, crossing his arms.

Winston shifted a bit uncomfortably, “Well, it’s not how I wanted this to be shared, but it’s difficult when Ishtar all but told us who she was.”

Torbjörn spoke again, _“Ishtar was how we got Baotou’s omnium under control in the first place. Pitted one AI against the other. Never were able to get into contact with it again after we deployed it, but the omnium had stopped producing, so we considered it a win. Massive undertaking with programming though, and trying to deploy the hardware necessary for an AI of that size in an environment like that… Well... let’s just say it wasn’t exactly easy. Guess we were too clever for our own good, come back t’bite us in the ass.”_

Winston nodded gravely, _“Whatever the reason, Ishtar finally broke the stalemate, and now she’s somehow taken over the omnium and started weaponizing it. We’re in the middle of negotiations to go to Baotou now.”_

Tracer looked delighted, but McCree looked angry, “Negotiations!? With _who?_ Are you outta yer mind!? We’re not supposed to exist!”

“ _It’s_ _complicated_ ,” Winston snapped testily. Genji found himself suddenly grateful to be on the other side of the globe. There was still something primally terrifying about Winston when he was angry.

“Christ on a cracker, is this really happening?”

“We have to go legitimate _sometime_ ,” Tracer said gently, reaching over to put a hand on McCree’s arm.

 _“It’s a delicate situation. We’re using up a bunch of favors already with our little stunt here. But we have a few things on our side. One,”_ Winston held up an enormous finger. _“Helix Security has had quite a few high-profile international scandals recently, one of which included a God AI program. Two: The Petras Act discourages new Overwatch activity, but there is a clause in there for authorized activity of any operation authorized prior to Overwatch’s disbandment. Now it was meant to be a sort of legal grace period for sensitive operations that couldn’t just be stopped but… they never really put an expiration date on it. In any event, we can’t go in there undetected. This is too big, so we’re going to have to get permission from someone,_ somewhere _, if we want to do something about this.”_ Winston huffed out a sigh. _“I don’t know why I’m doing this, honestly, but I’m the only ‘official’ Overwatch member left. I suppose being a genetically altered gorilla does have its uses, if it means I’m in legal limbo. We’ll let you know more once you’re here, but it’s not as bad as it seems, McCree. I promise.”_

“Tch. Fine. Just keep my name out of it, all right? I get nervous around the law these days.”

_“Understood. Well, I think that about covers it for now. See you all when you get back. We’re working on getting a charter off that municipal airport so it’s less suspicious than you taking off in the middle of the night. You should be leaving no later than 2AM local time, so be ready to move.”_

Lena cleared her throat, “Uh, Winston?”

“ _Yes, Tracer?”_

“So you’d say there’s time for dinner, right? Flight plans don’t write themselves, yeah?”

_“Yes, yes. You’ll need to leave under cover of darkness anyway. Just be ready anytime after 11PM. Any more questions?”_

“Yeah,"Genji smirked beneath his mask. “Why did my brother get a better room than me?”

Winston closed his eyes with a deep sigh, _“Over and out. Good night, agents.”_

The feed was abruptly cut short, and the room was filled with just the endless newsfeed in the background.

There was a long moment of silence, and Hanzo broke it by picking up the remote and switching back to the channel guide and the ridiculous movie. His older brother leveled a rather tired, but disapproving, look at Tracer. “Dinner?”

“What!? We’ve had a long day, and seventeen hours is a _long_ time to fly—”

“I think you and I both know that is not why you asked.” Hanzo crossed his arms, assessing the woman before him.

“Look, Hanzo, there’s nothing in the regulations about dating… outside the agency. Besides, I’m pretty sure Morado already gave her my personal number.”

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose, “I see.” There was a long stretch of silence before Hanzo made his ruling. “I need you to promise me that you will leave your communicator _on_ for emergency purposes. Secondly, she is not to come into this hotel, at all.” Genji just barely contained a noise of surprise. His _brother_ showing leniency in matters of the heart!?

“Can do, but you lot better keep off the comm, bad enough that Athena’s going to be listening in.”

_“Don’t forget me. Athena and I have a lot of video footage to scrub from your getaway, so I’m going to be veeeery bored later.”_

Tracer scowled, and her hand was halfway to her ear to pull out the comm before she caught Hanzo’s glare. There weren’t many things that could make Lena Oxton wilt, but apparently the full, disapproving stare of his brother was one of those things.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go.. Get ready. To leave and stuff I mean, not for… not for dinner. Bye!” This time, Tracer did leave the room in a run.

Hanzo turned to Jesse, “Tail her, when she leaves the hotel.”

Ah. Not so lenient then. Genji wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He should have known better. How many of his own dates had Hanzo given the same orders for? Never mind the dates that Hanzo had personally tailed him on.

Jesse pulled his head back in surprise, looking down at Hanzo, “Y’serious?”

“Always,” Hanzo said shortly. “Besides, you wanted a smoke.”

Jesse shook his head, and finally reached over to pull the hat from Genji’s head, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were tryin’ t’get rid of me.” He set the Stetson back on his messy locks, “Fine, whatever. I could do with a smoke. I’ll keep an eye on the situation. Been a long day though, hopefully I don’t need to jump in. Bit short-handed at the moment.” McCree smirked at his own joke. Genji rolled his eyes behind his visor, but he’d made similar enough jokes over the years that it didn’t faze him. Hanzo, on the other hand, signed deeply and pinched his brow once more.

“Your _deadeye_ should be all I need.” Even though he sounded long-suffering and put-upon, Genji saw the barest of smiles on his brother’s face. A tiny, fragile thing.

“Ooh, nice one,” Jesse flashed Hanzo a finger gun before fishing out his lighter, flicking it open and closed, repeatedly.

Genji slowly got to his feet. “I will take my leave as well. I should pack my things.”

“Check out as soon as you have, and come back here,” Hanzo said, now staring at the TV intently, as though the scrawling channel descriptions were fascinating.

“Right, anija.”

\----

 _Maybe we should have eaten in the hotel’s restaurant…  Fuck what Hanzo said, this is all terrible_.

The lamp situated directly above her head was starting to make her feel overheated, and she took another sip from her glass of water, which was down to its last quarter. She was starting to covet the brimming glass sitting across from her. Tracer felt a bead of sweat trickle down from her temple as she stared at the all-day breakfast offerings on the menu. None of which held the components of a good English—or even vaguely European—breakfast. This place didn’t even have crepes! _There’s always hash browns I suppose…_

Lena’s train of thought was derailed suddenly as Emily slid into the booth across from her. She was dressed in normal clothes now—grey khakis, a tan leather jacket with a red stripe across the bust, and a sunny yellow camisole underneath—but her hair was still bright magenta. Tracer felt a strange tremor in her lips as her mouth fought to smile against her reserved feeling of dread.

“Emily!” Even if she never saw her again, at least she had a better picture of the true Emily, rather than Emily-as-Peggy-Cochraine.

“Lena,” said the other woman coolly, picking up the other menu and instantly studying it.

“I’m sorry?” Tracer hated the way her voice squeaked. Emily leveled a dull, tired look over the top of the menu at her. “Who?”

“You,” the other woman said simply. “Lena Oxton. World-famous pilot and lesbian.” The addition at the end was enough to get a nervous chuckle out of Tracer. Still, Emily was keeping her voice low—which was good—but she also got the sense that something was different. The dynamic between them had shifted from that afternoon.

“Ah geez, when did you figure it out?”

There was a sigh and Emily looked out the window, dusk was starting to cloak the outdoors and it was getting harder to see anything. “Not as soon as I should have. When you … When you got up off me, remember? You just jumped to your feet without using your hands or anything. I don’t know suddenly.. Everything just fell into place.” Emily sighed again deeply and met Lena’s gaze. “I hope you can forgive me for not recognizing you, considering the circumstances under which we met.”

Tracer laughed again, “Hey, I don’t blame you. Some of those other Lenas we saw looked more like me than I do!” Finally, she saw a smile on that gorgeous face again, and Tracer felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders that she hadn’t realized was there. Emily didn’t say anything in response, though, and Tracer felt a tiny sliver of something like panic. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out suddenly, without thinking “for lying to you. I can tell you’re upset, so… I’m sorry.”

Emily tilted her head at Tracer, her brows knitting together, “ _Upset?_ You think I’m _upset?_ I’m fucking furious!”

“Look, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not upset that you lied to me,” Emily dropped her voice low, mindful of the somewhat sensitive nature of their conversation. “Not exactly, anyway.”

“I don’t think I follow, love.”

“When I figured out it was you, I figured in that split second ‘Okay, it’s really her. Lena Oxton, wow. Maybe she’s a regular person doing regular person things.’ But then you said you needed to _help_ and find your _friend_ and everything was happening so suddenly I just… I knew what you were really doing. And I felt stupid for thinking for even a moment that you were… god, Lena.”

Emily put the menu down on the table with too much force, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “What the hell are you playing at? Are you trying to get arrested? Or dragged in front of the UN? Or whatever happens to people like you!? How could you be doing this!? This is exactly why your group was disbanded in the first place!”

Tracer felt as though she’d been struck. She straightened her spine a bit, “Emily, I saved your life today. We saved so many people. It could have been a lot worse if we weren’t there.”

“I know that, but you did it on your own. You should at least let us, the people you’re supposed to be protecting, have a say in what happens. If the law is wrong, then it should be changed.”

“Shouldn’t we always be willing to help each other? The law doesn’t look out for people, people do. We should always be willing to do the right thing.”

Emily smiled sheepishly, “Well, I can agree with that. I suppose, but still… Ugh, I must seem so stupid and naive to you.”

“What?” Lena blinked again.

“I mean, I’m just a regular, normal person, and you’re _you_ , you’ve been everywhere and been so brave and you really know how the world works. Meanwhile I’m sitting here mouthing off about _‘Just change the law!’_ like it’s that easy to get a movement like that organized on an international level.”

“Emily, you’re amazing, and normal is _fine_.”

“Well, I guess. If I had been _normal_ when we first met, maybe, but you met me when I was dressed up as a fictional air pirate,” Emily’s cheeks turned a bit pink, and she looked away, that guarded reserve coming over her features again.

“That was also amazing, and if you did all that yourself it was bloody brilliant.”

“Thank you,” that tiny, adorable little smile played at the edges of her mouth, and Lena was overwhelmed by how much she wanted to suddenly kiss that smile. Before she could say—or worse _do_ —something she might regret, the smile slipped away again. “Listen, Tracer, I’m just… I’m worried. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I don’t want you to end up in prison or tried for international crimes.” There was genuine pain in her eyes that Tracer felt in her heart.

“Don’t worry about it, everything’s fine,” Tracer flashed a smile, which Emily half-heartedly returned.

“What’s up with the service here anyway?”

Lena shrugged, “I dunno. I haven’t seen the waitress for a while, been sitting here for a bit. Maybe twenty minutes? Longer? Not sure.” She reached over for the nearly-empty water she’d been nursing while waiting for Emily.

Emily shaded her eyes and pressed her face to the window again, “I think I see her out there… smoke break? Looks like she’s chatting up some bloke—is he wearing a cowboy hat? I swear every time I think that America can’t possibly be like the movies, something like this happens.”

Lena choked a bit on her water and started coughing.

“You all right?”

Tracer nodded, pounding her chest, and she quickly downed the rest of the water in the glass. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said in a reedy, croaky voice. So much for hoping her team was keeping off this channel.

Emily settled back in the booth. “So I guess we didn’t meet by accident then?”

“Ah, no, we didn’t. I can’t say too much more than that right now, but.. You met one of my friends, it’s how I knew how to find you.”

“Really? Who?”

“Do you remember the Steel Senshi?”

“What? No way!”

“Yeah. I know,” Tracer let out a nervous chuckle. “Seems crazy right?”

“Just a bit, though maybe not as much as your phone number just appearing in my phone. And me somehow getting through to you when the cell towers should have been overloaded. I’m guessing you had _help_ with that too?”

“Ah, yeah,” Tracer chuckled a little bit nervously.

“I’m guessing that’s how _this_ happened then?” Emily slid her phone over to Tracer. There on her social media page—her official one—was a picture of her and Emily, the one they had taken in front of the Slipstream. There was a caption underneath: _I’m still humbled and amazed whenever people dress up as me, thanks for sharing this amazing photo with me_ _Emmy!_ followed by several relevant tags and a few rainbow pride emojis on the end for good measure.

A picture that Tracer had not been given.

“Er…”

“Look, tell your tech friend to stay out of my stuff going forward okay? It’s creepy. I’m glad I was able to get ahold of you today, but still…”

 _“I told you I fixed it for you,”_ came a smug voice in her ear. _“And I figured I’d save you some time. I only did the standard background check. After all, it’d be terrible if it turned out your new girlfriend was part of Talon or something, right?”_ Lena fought to keep her expression neutral, though she supposed disapproving wouldn’t be suspicious given the circumstances.

Tracer felt her cheeks burn, and she told herself it was just the lamp hanging four inches from her head. “I’ll definitely be having words about that. Sorry.”

Emily shrugged again. “This is still so surreal to me… I mean I’m _me_ and you’re _you_ and we’re just sitting here in the shittiest diner in existence, and I can’t believe that this has all happened today! I feel like I’m going to wake up any second and see that I just fell asleep during a movie marathon and just had some fucked up dreams because of it.”

Tracer laughed a bit, and decided to ask the question that she’d been dying to ask ever since she lied to Emily about having a fear of heights, before her nerve failed her. “Look, Emily. I had a great time today. I wasn’t faking it when I was hanging out with you. I really did enjoy myself. And I know it's weird because I'm me, but maybe _just_ me and _just_ you could go get _just_ coffee sometime.” Tracer pressed her palm to her cheek, ”And maybe just forget I asked it like that.”

“Oh, um. Oh wow,” it was Emily’s turn to turn into a cherry. “Uh I’m sorry but just.. Given the circumstances under which we met I just.. I need to think about it.” Emily lifted the menu and buried her face in it.

“Right, of course,” Tracer swallowed thickly, guilt and shame mingling with that painful feeling of rejection. “I totally get it—”

“Okay I thought about it.” Emily cut her off suddenly.

“What!?” Not for the first time speaking to this woman, Tracer felt blindsided. “I’m sorry?”

“I said I thought about it. Yes. I’d love to have coffee with you sometime. Like maybe now? They do have coffee here.”

Tracer laughed, “Well I am gonna need some before we leave tonight.”

“Oh, you're going that soon?”

“Yeah, can't say where. But you have my number. And we'll get together again soon, I promise.”

“Soon.. okay. That sounds good,” Emily laughed again, and reached across the table to take Lena’s hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! I didn’t completely abandon this fic!!
> 
> Oh yeah I forgot to mention, if anyone wants any idioms that I’ve used explained or phrases translated, let me know and I’ll put those in the notes or whatever. For the most part I’ve tried to use easily google-able phrases and the like. 
> 
> Zenyatta’s little mental reprimand to Genji there is a modified Buddah quote about violence unto others. The original goes like this: “All tremble at violence; all fear death. Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill.”
> 
> This one was harder to write, and I apologize if it feels weird or off but it is DONE. I should mention that this chapter is un-beta'd as well so I apologize if I missed any errors and stuff. (also copying and pasting directly from google docs is the worst formatting wise for some reason) Got stuck and then there was a personal family situation thing that happened. I appreciate the comments and the feedback from you all. I’m working full time and have The Depression™ and I’m just doing my best. There’s like 8k words of the next chapter already written, so maybe now that I'm getting back into things it'll be done sooner than.... whatever this last lapse in updates was. A sequel and/or prequel may happen…? We’ll see. No promises. But I do have thinky thoughts about stuff that could make a decent story arc/exploration. It just may take me like 20 years to get it all written down. I do also have this weird.. satellite story prequel thing set in pre-recall Overwatch written as well that I’ll probably post soonish. 
> 
> Also if you want to see my hot mess of a tumblr blog it’s http://liquidlyrium.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew check in and return home. Some wounds are older than others.

**[April 15, 2074]**

The rest of dinner went well. Tracer pointedly ignored Morado's suggestions to capture Emily under the guise of ‘containment’ or ‘security.’

She didn't know how she managed to cram in a four hour nap after Emily kissed her, though. Lena's skin still felt electric six hours later somewhere in the dark skies over America's flyover country. Her cheek and the corner of her mouth were prickling with a thousand tiny stars. Somehow the fact that Emily had caught the corner of her mouth rather than a full-on kiss left Lena's head in the clouds—more than it already was at any rate.

Lena checked their altitude again. They couldn't go too high or too fast while they were over land, as they were using a flight path registered with a much smaller and distinctly less military model of aircraft. More practically, they didn’t have a refueling stop in place to facilitate faster travel. She flicked the intercom and spoke to the other passengers, although she could have shouted and they probably would have heard her just fine.

“This is your captain speaking, two hours in, we should be touching down in fifteen hours. Your in flight entertainment is _Shinobi Sakura Dreams_.”

There was a loud _'Booo!’_ from below that had the distinct touch of synthetic voice assistance.

“Or whatever Genji has loaded up for you lot. Either way, we're set to arrive on schedule.”

Lena settled in and set music to play in the cockpit, mostly-wordless electronic beats to help her keep her focus. It was a new mix Lucio had recorded from one of his recent house DJ marathon streams, the sixteen and a half hour long byproduct of a foolish wager with Hana to see who could stream longer. Hana had won, technically, but Lena personally doubted that either of them had truly won anything.

Still, it was the right mix of stimulating and unobtrusive. Enough to keep her senses sharp and let everything non-essential melt away into the background at the same time. She was so focused on flying, she didn't realize how much time had passed until Jesse suddenly sank into the empty copilot's seat beside her. His serape was gone for the moment, and she could see the edges of synthetic skin and gauze under the edge of his shirt collar.

“Gotcha breakfast. Gal can't fly on love alone.” Here Jesse dropped a paper plate with a pair of deceptively sad looking breakfast burritos on the console between them.

“Breakfast?” Tracer blinked slowly. Somewhere over the Atlantic, the sky had changed from black to pale blue, as seamlessly as Lucio’s music.

“'S what us mere mortals call it, yeah. Fresh from the microwave.” Jesse leaned back, plucking up one of the burritos and cradling it to his chest. His boots were perched on the precious little space that wasn't covered in essential controls.

Even after all this time, Tracer tensed. She locked the controls into place and had Athena take over piloting duties in full. “Get those boots off my console if you don't want fake feet to match with your fake arm.”

“Alright, alright. I get it,” chastened properly, Jesse's boots found the floor again. “Yer lucky this thing has stairs and not a ladder, else I’d have a devil of a time bringing you grub with my arm out of commission. Then where’d you be? Passed out in the middle of the Atlantic somewhere with low blood sugar, that’s where. Eat yer damn breakfast.” The cowboy slouched down further in the chair, a scowl on his face.

“All right, all right, I’m grateful. No need to get snarky. Something eating you, Jess?”

“‘M fine,” Jesse sulked.

“Aww, c’mon. You can talk to me.”

McCree grunted and nibbled disinterestedly at the corner of his burrito. “That’s the problem. Ain’t you I gotta talk to. No offense darlin’.”

“Ohhhh, I see,” Tracer lowered her voice, and rested her elbows on her knees, leaning conspiratorially towards Jesse. “Is something up with you and him?”

“Dunno,” Jesse sighed again. “Thinkin’ maybe I said some shit maybe I shouldn’t have. Man won’t talk to me. ‘ _Not now_.’ He’s either asleep, pretending to be asleep, or meditating so hard he’s on a plane of existence where he can’t hear me.”

“Aww, Jess. You know he’s just private. I’m sure he’ll talk to you when we get back.”

“Hope it’ll be that simple,” McCree let out another sigh that Lena felt dampen her spirits slightly. “How do you do it?”

Tracer reached for the burrito with a curious tilt of her head, “What do you mean?”

“Bein’... well… honest. Yer part of an organization that ain’t exactly legal right now, but from what I could tell, you and Emily… might have something there. Something worth starting. Always had to play my cards closer to the chest over the years. Not sure if I can play my hand so open.”

“Oh Jesse,” Lena felt a sigh of her own escape. “That’s what you’re worried about? I’ve known you a long time mate, and talking has never been a weak spot for you.”

McCree scoffed, his lip pulling into a brief sneer, “I can talk plenty about nothin’. I can manipulate folk, bend their perceptions of me. Had to lie a lot and be paranoid over the years. Can’t be a healthy foundation for trying to have something.. Real.” Jesse sat up a bit taller in his chair, if only to avoid Lena’s gaze.

“Jesse McCree, you stop that kind of talk right now. You and I both know you’ve got a lionheart in that chest of yours that puts Rein to shame. You have real friends, and you can be real as much as you like. All you need to do is stop tap dancing around the issue, and it’ll be fine.”

“Strictly line dancin’ hon, you know that.”

“Mmhmm. See, this is your problem, right here.” Tracer started in on her burrito before it got too much colder. “I might be bubbly and chipper, but I never treat anything like a joke. A person’s heart is too delicate to be that callous. So, there’s my secret, I guess. Seeing as you asked and all.”

McCree’s shoulders heaved with another sigh, “I just don’t wanna fuck this up, and the longer we don’t say anything the more I feel like I already did.”

Tracer reached between them to place her hand on Jesse’s shoulder, the one above his stump. “Keep your chin up, love. We’ll be back home before you know it, and you two will either talk it out. Or maybe you’ll chicken out like a big weenie, I dunno!”

Jesse chuckled despite himself. “Thanks darlin’. Feelin’ better already.” The burrito in his hand quickly started disappearing.

“Anytime, rain or shine,” Lena gave him a wink, but despite a bit less tension in Jesse’s shoulders, he still had a melancholy expression. Ah well.

“So what is Genji subjecting you lot to?”

Jesse sent her the most pitiful, hangdog look in existence. “Don’t send me back there, I can’t take anymore of whatever fuckin’ _Host Club Ninja_ is supposed to be.”

Tracer put a finger to her chin, as if considering terms. “Bring me another burrito and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“These are the last ones.”

“Well, then I guess you’re shit out of luck!”

“Lena, there are seven seasons of this bullshit, and Genji is going to hunt me down and make me watch all of it.”

Lena just flashed him her cruelest grin, “That sounds like a personal problem now, doesn’t it, luv? Get out of my chair.” And with a push of a button, the copilot seat tipped forward and dumped Jesse onto the floor.

\----

Jesse did not agree with Genji’s assessment. _Host Club Ninja_ did _not_ pick up with the second season. It was still utter nonsense, and total garbage, but at least trying to comprehend the show gave him something to think about other than counting the hours since Hanzo had last spoken to him. It gave McCree a place to focus his agitation, with someone who knew him well enough to know how to handle it. Someone he wasn't establishing new boundaries with.

“Genji, this premise is bullshit. Everyone _but_ the protagonist is a fucking secret ninja? How are they keeping this on lockdown? They have a battle in this restaurant every other episode! How are people not noticing this?”

“It’s like a fairy tale, McCree. Only those who have been initiated into that world are able to see it.”

“Uh huh. Right, and how is it that people don’t notice folk keep getting lured there to be the target of assassinations then?”

“Please, no evil villain worth their salt is going to just have a day planner with their schedule of illicit business meetings lying around to be discovered.”

“Look I’ll grant you, a club that is secretly cover for an assassin’s cabal is interesting as a premise. I’ll grant you that much. Out of the generosity and goodness of my heart. So why the hell is there a weird romantic subplot that’s going on with everyone? _Everybody_ wants a piece of the main character—who I don’t buy for a minute dating _any_ of these cold-hearted killers. The mood whiplash is so intense I’m gonna file a claim with my insurance agent.”

“I keep telling you, it picks up during this season. Just give it time. We’re still establishing plot arcs and characters that have five more seasons to come to fruition!”

“If it’s shit now, there ain’t no way I’m gonna sit through five more seasons for the payoff! That’s awful pacin’! I can’t wait five seasons for this to become _maybe_ mediocre for the finale. This thing has been slice of life and enemy of the week for one and a half seasons now! There ain’t _been_ a plot line to speak of.”

“McCree, the Buddha once said: _‘A person is destroyed by holding judgements_ _about other people’s taste in anime_.’”

“That a threat or a promise, good buddy? Cause if you can deliver me from this, please dear god, end me. I’ve suffered enough.”

“Anija, I know you're only pretending to sleep. Please help me defend the virtues of _Host Club Ninja_ to this uncultured swine.”

“No.”

It was the first word Hanzo had spoken the entire plane ride. All sixteen hours and forty-eight minutes.

“But you _adored_ it when we were younger!”

Hanzo simply let out a sigh. McCree filed away this tidbit in his brain to be used against Hanzo the next time the man made a smart remark about McCree’s taste in whiskey.

_ <Please prepare for landing.> _

“Saved by the bell! Looks like the marathon's being postponed.”

“We will continue this later, McCree, make no mistake. I'll make a convert of you yet.”

“And here I thought there was only one set of circumstances that could make a man like me religious,” McCree gave a lascivious wink in Hanzo's direction—a wasted gesture as the man's eyes were still closed. “Guess I've been proven wrong though, Christ Almighty. Five and a half more seasons? I'd start praying now, but I'm a bit short handed at the moment.”

“Ha ha. You just wait. I promise the end of this season is _sick._ ”

McCree started strapping himself into place for landing. “I'm sure I will be.”

“No, I mean it. The season two battle climax is some of the most incredible achievements of animation.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” McCree _did_ have to admit to himself—certainly not out loud to Genji—that the series did have some good battles. It was the only redeeming quality it the show. Of course it was hardly realistic, but despite being supernaturally powered the action was smoothly animated, adrenaline fueled, and followed its own internal logic. And the studio has clearly done research into actual martial art forms, if studying Genji over the years had taught him anything.

Their argument was lost as the aircraft started to land, the engines roaring as they went into hover mode. McCree shot a look at Hanzo. He'd finally opened his eyes, which were trained down on a paper-thin screen reader. Going over information for debriefing, no doubt. As soon as the engines stopped and the hanger door opened, Hanzo was there, striding down the ramp. In a lesser man, it would have been considered ‘fleeing’ but McCree simply felt left in the dust.

Jesse stiffened a bit as he felt a metal hand on his shoulder. He must have had a real hangdog look if Genji was letting his stupid animated show go. “Don't take it personally McCree, he's avoiding both of us.”

“Thanks,” McCree said voice thick with sarcasm. “Real touching.”

“Come on, let's go see—”

“Genji! McCree!” Dr. Ziegler was already standing in the landing bay door.

“Jeez, Ang, yer ears start burning? We ain't even said your name!”

The good doctor cast an appraising eye over him before walking over to Genji. “How are you feeling Genji? Any pain? What of your heart? Jesse, help me get him to the infirmary. I have a stretcher at the ready.”

“Angela—Doctor, I am perfectly able to walk. My leg was repaired enough to be functional,” there was a petulant undertone to Genji's words.

“Well it doesn't hurt to have an extra set of—” Angela stopped mid-sentence and sighed as Jesse wiggled his only set of working fingers at her. “ _Childish_. In any case, I do not want to carry you on my own if your patchwork repairs give way. Come, come, we must get a good look at the both of you.”

Jesse shot Genji a sympathetic look. It had been rare, even in Blackwatch days for Genji's system to fully shut down, and even minor damage could lead to days of testing, rehab, and recalibration. Maybe he'd take pity on the poor sap and watch more of that stupid show with him.

McCree shot Mercy a sideways glance as he went to support Genji with his remaining arm. There was a strange current of energy in the air and the expression on Angela's face stalled a smart remark. Just like her nanites could pull someone from the brink, every so often Mercy revived uncomfortable memories of Moira that McCree thought he'd long since buried. That same unbridled determination, the level of obsession where Genji was concerned made McCree wonder how entitled the doctor felt over him. Over her decade-long project. He knew the two women weren't the same, not by a long shot, but there were still moments the similarities we striking.

Striking enough he didn't want to push his luck. “You got it, doc.”

\----

Hanzo felt very less certain that waking up Winston for a debrief was a good idea as soon as he was standing in front of the genetically enhanced ape. Soldier, at least, he knew did not sleep, but Winston? Winston had his bouts of insomnia, but the pull to adhere to a diurnal schedule was hard to fight. Even though he’d been raised on the moon and had his genes spliced. Some things were simply wired into a… being.

Still, Hanzo had a responsibility to detail the rest of the mission, and he needed to know what was coming next.

“I apologize for my brother’s actions, and I apologize that we did not complete all objectives. It is my responsibility.”

“We were all blindsided Hanzo,” Winston’s delicate glasses shifted as the gorilla’s enormous fingers rubbed his eyes.

“How are the negotiations going?” Hanzo glanced briefly at Soldier 76 before turning his attention back to Winston. The question was put forth delicately. Hanzo was not in the habit of being delicate but, again, something about being in the same room as a 180 kilo gorilla tipped every survival instinct in his head. The skin along his tattoos itched, and he had to fight the urge to submerge into the senses of the dragons. Not here.

Not now.

“Slowly,” Winston grunted. “But like I said, my status has its uses. I’ll probably be able to get clearance for Torbjorn easily enough. Reinhardt as well. We’ll be asking for special permission to bring on some, uh, how would you put it, Soldier?” Winston glanced over at the silent visor in the corner.

“Approved consultants and specialists.”

“McCree would prefer to be left out of any official mention. I think it would be wise to avoid bringing attention to me or my brother as well. Our association with the Shimada would only create complications.”

There was a gruff chuckle from Soldier as shattered and smoky as a broken beer bottle. “Genji? Who’s that? Far as I know he’s a Shambali omnic.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get everything smoothed over. And we’ll… finesse getting the rest of you there, if you’re needed.”

Hanzo nodded stiffly, and then gave a slight bow. “If there is nothing else, I will let you return to your rest.”

“Oh, uh, there is one thing I suppose.” Winston cleared his throat. “Agent Seiryu, as acting strike commander I hereby relieve you of the position of acting field commander.”

<Rank of acting field commander has been deactivated for Agent Seiryu. Agent clearance is no longer elevated.>

“Dismissed,” Winston grunted, and Hanzo was only too happy to make his exit

\----

Genji was jealous of how quickly McCree was in and out of the infirmary. He watched from his hospital bed as Angela pronounced the field dressings as 'sufficient’ before putting in real stitches. She then affixed a prosthetic to McCree’s arm. This one was much lighter, almost skeletal in appearance. The digits were functional, ending in little metal crescents. They put Genji in mind of those ancient, prehistoric typewriters.

“We heard about your arm. This is all Torbjörn had time to cobble together. You should really think about investing in a spare.”

“Works. Ain't the worst thing I've attached to this stump.” Metal clicking filled the air as McCree experimentally opened and closed his fingers. “Long as it holds one of my smokes I'll be fine.”

Angela pulled a face, “Certainly not in here. If you want my opinion you should take it easy the next few days. That includes refraining from poisoning your body.”

“Got it. Do my poisoning somewhere else. ‘Scuse me while I go pollute the temple that is my body.” McCree hopped off the table and sauntered out of the infirmary as fast as his spurs would carry him.

From what was left of his skin, it felt like the temperature lowered several degrees when McCree left. When it was just him and Angela.

Her boots softly tamped against the tile as she stepped over to view his vitals. “You seem to be stable enough. I imagine you need another infusion of nanobots. I can’t imagine you have anything left in your stores should another incident like this happen.”

“Probably,” Genji agreed mildly.

“You are supposed to be shielded from EMP blasts. I don’t like that you went down like this. We’ll also need to scan your brain to make sure there was no damage from any hypoxia.” Mercy was already wheeling the bed towards another room with a CT scanner.

“That old thing? Still? You don’t care for Vishkar’s handheld hard light scanner?”

“It’s only five years old, not the same one we used to have, and the hard light scanner is fine for pointing out obvious things, but I find that it is not good for ultrafine details. Besides the radiation dose is higher in Vishkar’s fancy machine.”

“You keep that thing because you know I hate it.”

It was meant to be a light-hearted jest, but the way Mercy’s hand tightened on the rails of his bed and the tight press of her lips spoke volumes.

“I apologize. Angela, I did not mean to-”

“It’s fine,” she cut him off brusquely. “I know what you meant.”

“I am grateful to you, doctor, and I appreciate your efforts when it comes to my wellbeing.” Genji pulled his hand back, startled that he was already reaching for hers. It had not been a conscious thought. “It is not something I think I have said to you enough.”

“No, you haven’t.” Angela’s easy agreement drew a chuckle out of him. The very corner of Angela’s mouth lifted into a smile. “Come, let’s give you a full scan.”

“Full being a relative term.”

Genji suffered the claustrophobic scanner. In the past he would have thrown a fit like a child. The way those memories pressed in against him were worse than the ring of plastics surrounding him. It seemed to take ages, and Genji started to nod off. Maybe binging one and a half seasons of his favorite anime was starting to catch up with him.

When he came to, he was out of the scanner, already wheeled back into the examination room.

“You know, it’s really irritating when you fall asleep on me with your visor on. I was talking to myself for a good twenty minutes before I realized you were asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Your body could do with the rest.”

“How is everything?”

“I’ve been reviewing your scans. Everything looks alright. Your systems will need more calibration, and I want you to do some cardio testing over the next few days, but it shouldn’t be difficult for you.”

“But you just said everything looks fine.”

“Your system still underwent a shock, your heart stopped. It was restarted. You are familiar with how this works. Nanites and enhancements aside, it is not good when that happens to you.”

Genji touched the plating on his chest. He was already on his third heart. It was no longer the one that Angela had taken from him. Had given him. It had been grown by O’Deorain from his own cells. Reyes had said it was because he didn’t want untested tech on the battlefield but Genji knew better.

Reyes had known that heart was broken.

“Your heart is holding up well,” Angela almost sounded begrudging. “It will probably outlive you. If you want it to.”

Genji couldn’t help the pained burst of static laughter that escaped his visor. “Sure. Sure. I won’t be using it by then.”

Angela’s features twisted for a moment, and Genji wished he could be the one to provide relief. Not him. Not anymore. He had lost that right a long time ago.

Better not to inflict harm than try to repair those wounds.

“I’ve started you on a low dose of painkillers. The nanites will be reaching the end of their peak efficacy over the next eight hours or so, and I don’t want you paralyzed in agony when they wear off. It’s a new drug, but it’s based off of formulas you’ve reacted well to in the past. I know you worry about addiction.”

“Angela—” Genji knew what was coming.

“You should stay here for observation for the next few days.” Dr. Ziegler continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted.

“Angela, your time is too valuable to babysit me for hours on end.”

“Managing your pain and recovery is how my time should be spent. I am a doctor. Your doctor.”

“Please, you know I hate this. Can I not at least spend one night in my own room? I just got back. Athena is here. She will monitor my vitals, she can alert you if there is an emergency or if I need assistance.”

 _< I can perform these functions.>_ Athena cut in smoothly, wisely not picking a side after being invited into the conversation.

“Stay out of it,” Angela directed at the ceiling. “Genji. Please. Don’t be difficult about this.”

“Just one night? I will stay as long as you wish without complaint Angela, I just need one night in my own bed.” Angela almost seemed taken aback by his sincerity. There was a long silence.

“I suppose you are… stable for now. And Athena can keep an eye on you. I will sleep in one of the nearby rooms, if that’s alright. In case there is an emergency.”

“That is perfectly agreeable. I will sleep better knowing you are close at hand.”

“Hm. Well, now that you’re awake, let me get some some samples from you. Let’s start with some blood.” Dr. Ziegler held up a butterfly needle and Genji sighed. He knew it was too easy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the direction they're travelling, the group essentially loses the 14th, hence the date.  
> This chapter was becoming a bit of a monster so I split it. I will never write anything funnier than Genji's quote about the Buddha and I accept this. Fun fact: Moira did not exist when I started writing this story, but damn if she was not the greatest gift that the Overwatch team could have given me to make some of these strange puzzle pieces fit together. Also. Again. So much research into meaningless details. So much world-building for in-fiction media that does not actually exist. Because I love you all. Anyways. Chapter 6 is basically done, just need to give it one more pass before I throw it up. Then an epilogue and... we'll see what order the rest of the Crooked Mile universe falls together in. This is the middle of a loosely planned/plotted trilogy with at least one...satellite story for lack of a better term.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now cannot be put off any longer, and it is time to look to the future as Overwatch catches its breath and prepares their counter strike against Ishtar.

Lena finished hooking up the Orca to the fuel lines. It was something that she didn’t have to do, but it felt satisfying nonetheless.

“Hey chica,” Morado sounded far too pleased with herself as she snuck up behind Tracer.

“Hey doll,” Lena was still over the moon. She didn’t care how much teasing she was about to endure.

“Am I the best? Or am I the best? Take your time, no hurry,”  Odalis waved her magnificent nails magnanimously.

“You are the best Odalis, though it would be great if you could maybe not invade Emily’s privacy from now on. I mean since you ‘ran the background check’ already and everything,” Lena put air quotes around the words.

“You two are no fun!” Odalis pouted, but that smug smile was curving her lips again in a moment. “You called her yet?”

“Uh… no? Not sure what time it is over there off the top of my head. She could be sleeping for all I know.”

“It’s not that late! You gotta let her know you got here safely!” Odalis grinned and unzipped the pouch on her belt. Lena barely caught her phone as it was hurled at her face.

“Hey! This was in my room! Can’t you even pretend to respect people’s boundaries? Athena, how could you let her get in my room like that?”

_ <Agent Morado has not been in your room according to my sensors. I apologize Agent Tracer.> _

Tracer looked at Odalis with a mixture of awe and concern. Odalis merely wiggled her fingertips in a coquettish wave. Purple threads of hard light winked along her fingers and down her palm.

“Damn Morado, that’s kind of scary you can do that. You gonna let Athena in on your secrets? Sounds like a pretty big security breach right there.”

“I probably should, huh? Alright. I’ll make sure to let her in on it. Later though. We are going to celebrate, which means that I’m going into town to get some booze. You want anything special? My treat.”

“I know it’s pretty predictable, but if there’s any Guinness I’ve got a hankering for a taste of home.”

“We have all of the best wines of Spain at our backdoor and you want a some shitty Irish stout instead?” Odalis looked personally affronted. “I mean they’ll have it, but still.”

“I’ll take some shitty Scottish lager instead if they have any Tennent’s.” Lena couldn’t help but laugh at the ever growing disgust on Morado’s face. Still, the woman recovered and she clapped her hands together.

“Right. Soooo, I’m bringing back wine and brandy, and then we are gonna make sangria. You have lost your booze picking privileges. Call your girlfriend, and meet me in the kitchen later tonight and you give me all the juicy details.” Tracer didn’t flinch as Odalis reached over to boop her on the nose.

“Alright, but I warn you now dollface, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell!”

“You gotta have something juicy for me even if you two haven’t smooched yet.”

“Hey we smooched!”

“Ha! Gotcha!” Morado laughed and started making her way across the landing pad towards the hangar, her purple implants glowing bright against the dark sky. “I wanna hear more when I get back. I gotta go change before I go to town. Call her!”

Tracer looked down at the phone in her hand. She decided to send a text instead, five simple words in case Morado was wrong and it was some ungodly hour like it was in Gibraltar. Five simple words: _Hey. It’s me. Landed safely._

Tracer’s phone lit up and the picture of the two of them standing in front of _The Slipstream_ filled the screen. Lena smiled and answered the call, “Hey luv. How you holding up over there? It’s not like a bad time right?”

_“The time is fine. Just had supper. How are you?”_

“I’m alright. Uh so you’re coming back to this side of the world in a week I think you said?”

_“Yeah. Mum called and tried to beg me to come home tonight. I told her I wanted to finish my visit first. I mean… it was tempting. Don’t get me wrong that was all, uh, really scary. Still, I don’t know when I’m going to get back here so, I don’t want to regret not doing something later.”_

“We’re going to take care of this Em, I promise. Oh, and it’ll be above board too! We’re in negotiations right now!”

_“Really? That’s great! I mean it’d really suck you know? I finally get a girlfriend and then she ends up tried for international crimes and ends up in prison.”_

Lena snorted as she dissolved into giggles. “Yeah. Look, I can’t tell you where I am and stuff but, uh, when you get back I’ll come see you. You’re uh, not that far from here so it shouldn’t be too hard for me to hop on a plane and visit.” She could figure out how to justify the cost of the fuel to Winston later.

 _“Okay. Okay, yeah. Lena Oxton just coming to see me.”_ The fact that Emily’s laugh was on the other side of the ocean made Tracer’s heart ache with loneliness. _“That’ll take some getting used to I reckon.”_

“I mean, I’m up to do it as many times as it takes to get you used to it?” Another peal of laughter met Tracer’s proclamation.

_“Alright, you’re on. Probably take at least five hundred times, for sure.”_

“I really hate that you’re so cute and so far away right now.”

_“Me too. I mean, not the cute part. The far away bit.”_

Tracer could feel her cheeks starting to ache from smiling.

\----

It was creeping past two thirty in the morning when Genji was finally released from Angela's clutches. McCree was grateful he actually was. The last couple of hours combing the base left him feeling more ragged than the flight back. McCree hopped down of the partition he’d been sitting on, waiting for salvation to exit the infirmary doors.

“Genji?” McCree ground the end of an unlit cigarillo between his teeth.

“Hmm?”

Jesse shifted on his feet, not quite meeting his eyes. Or visor. “Where’s Hanzo at? Was supposed to talk to him, but I can’t seem to catch him anywheres.”

Genji titled his head at that frustrating angle that McCree knew meant a smirk. “Oh? Asking for my help now? I thought you told me to stay out of this?”

“Fer fuck’s sake, I’m not asking for his favorite flavor of mochi—which, I already know, is any type of melon—I’m asking if you know why I suddenly can’t find hide nor hair of him.”

Genji sighed, “Apparently he has no face to show.”

McCree squinted at Genji speculatively, “I think I get that one. So where can I find his face?”

“I’m going to assume you checked the usual places?”

“‘Course.”

“Have you asked Athena?”

“I was sorta hoping to avoid that. Reckon it’s a bit sweeter and less invasive if I figure this shit out, rather than ask the all powerful computer.”

“And you stopped by his room?”

“Twice,” Jesse tapped the tip of his boot on the ground, impatience getting the better of him. “Trust me, he wasn’t in there.”

“Hmm, I agree. I don’t think he’d ignore you that blatantly if you’d found him out. I’m sure he’s factoring in all the places you’d usually look for him.” There was a slight pause. “How committed are you to the idea of ‘no help’ from me?”

“I just wanna talk to the guy. Like he promised. That’s all. If you can send him my way… I’d appreciate it.” Jesse started walking away.

“Oi, where am I sending him!?”

“He’ll know.”

“You aren’t even dating yet and you two are already disgusting and insufferable.”

“Hey, them’s the breaks when yer bestie and brother got a thing going,” Jesse flashed Genji a finger gun before tipping the ever-present hat. “Least let's hope it's going somewhere.” He scuffed the floor once as he ambled along. McCree lit up his smoke, ignoring Athena’s admonishing voice from above.

\----

Genji stood outside the door to his room for five seconds before he passed his palm over the reader and it chirped happily. He didn’t have a palm to read, so much as a transponder. The door hissed open.

«Why are you here?» Genji asked the question before he even stepped through the door, slipping into his mother tongue.

As he suspected, Hanzo was sitting on the end of his bed, legs folded under him.

«Am I not allowed to visit my insubordinate brother?» The absurdly formal tone Hanzo used was enough to get a slight laugh out of Genji. Another part of him ached that Hanzo still hadn’t relaxed on his hyper-polite tone in private. It felt like rejection every time.

«Not when you’re using me to avoid keeping promises.» Genji folded his arms and leaned against the wall across from his bed.

«Oh,» Hanzo’s eyes slid away, shoulders tensing. The silence threaded between them tense and thin, like a wire. It was hardly surprising. Too often, conversations with his brother were like navigating a tightrope.

Genji sighed and reached up to remove the lower half of his faceplate. He caught Hanzo’s eyes drifting back to his face before darting to look anywhere else in the room again.

For a fleeting moment Genji wondered, not for the first time, if this stillness seemed strange to his brother. While there had been time for his brother to get to know him again, there was still ten years of absence, ten years of Genji being dead and incapable of growth in his brother’s mind. Perhaps it wasn’t so inaccurate. That Genji was _done_.

The Genji that Hanzo had grown up with really _was_ dead.

The new Genji could be still and patient.

The new Genji could stand to wait for Hanzo to make the first move and break silence.

The Genji that still lived in Hanzo’s memories would be badgering his brother, wearing him down, distracting him, making him laugh or scoff until he finally was ready to speak.

Twelve minutes and forty-three seconds passed before Hanzo spoke again. Just one of the benefits of a built-in chronometer.

«I see you have been speaking to McCree. What else has he told you?»

«Mostly to mind my own business. He didn’t appreciate my trying to help you, you’ll be happy to know.»

«I see,» Hanzo’s hands clenched ever so slightly, his eyes seemed lost. Whatever he searched for, he wasn’t finding it on the floor.

«So besides avoiding him, what else brings you here?»

«I am not _avoiding_ him. I came here to…» Hanzo hesitated, and Genji realized that he had deviated from whatever mental script that his brother had prepared the moment he stepped into the room. «I do not appreciate your actions on the field, brother. You willfully disobeyed my command and put yourself in unimaginable danger!»

«I followed protocol. Mission parameters had changed. I used my judgement.»

«I am having serious concerns with protocol here. How does one get these rules re-written into something sensible?» Hanzo’s scowl had only grown more impressive over the years. Perhaps it was the facial hair that gave it additional gravitas?

Genji laughed a bit, «An excellent question. That particular regulation was actually written thanks to Jack Morrison, of all people, so it’s a pretty central rule. Couldn’t have one of Overwatch’s original poster boys constantly in trouble.»

«And you came _back_ to this organization!?»

«To be fair, I was Blackwatch, not Overwatch. We had our own rules,» Genji shrugged. «The consequences of disobeying Reyes were far more severe.»

The righteous fury that Hanzo was building himself up to seemed to stall. “Reyes?”

Genji tilted his head curiously, «Yes? What about him?»

Hanzo shook his head, «I had not expected to hear his name so soon again. Jesse mentioned him in passing during the mission.»

Genji unfolded his arms, certain that the lift of his head and shift of his shoulders telegraphed his surprise more than the motion of his arms, «I see.» McCree never spoke about Reyes. Not even when good memories were shared. The man seemed to shut down whenever their former commander was brought up. As if the cowboy were also secretly a cyborg with an emotionally-triggered off/on switch. Then realization hit Genji like a stone dropping into a well. _“‘Jesse?’"_

The look of abject horror and understanding that crossed across his brother’s face rivaled the one he’d given Genji when he’d first unmasked himself in Hanamura.

« _Do not—_ _»_

«Interfere? Oh, I wouldn’t _dream_ of it. I already gave _Jesse_ my word.»

« _Little brother,_ _»_ Hanzo’s cheeks were quickly darkening to a shade of puce that put Genji in mind of young plums.

«Oh? Are you still here? Didn’t you promise _Jesse_ that you’d speak with him?»

Hanzo rose to his feet nails digging into his palms, «Genji I swear, here and now, in the name of all our ancestors—»

«You don’t want to keep _Jesse_ waiting, do you? He’s waiting for you at ‘your spot’ I guess. He said you would know where to find him anyway.»

Not for the first time in the same conversation, the color drained from Hanzo’s face and he stared at Genji. «What?»

«The only thing _Jesse_ asked of me, was that I send you his way, and that you’d know where to find him. That is all. I think he’s looking forward to speaking with you, brother.»

Hanzo shifted from foot to foot on the spot, as if he wished to run. Genji was able to catch the most fleeting expression of terror on Hanzo’s face—and probably only because he knew the man so well and less because his eyes now doubled as cameras—before the man schooled his features into impassive stone.

Genji sighed and crossed his arms, «What is it you are so concerned about, brother? It’s not like you to go back on your word.»

«I haven’t gone back on my word!» Hanzo hissed out the words angrily, stepping closer to Genji. «I am simply… waiting for the right time. I needed to speak with you first.»

«And now that you’ve spoken with me?»

«I am _still_ checking on you! Did you check in with Dr. Zeigler?» Hanzo crossed his arms. Evidently his older sibling had given up on the idea of scolding him, which Genji was thankful for.

«Did _you_ run off so quickly from the launch pad that you didn’t see her ambush me? Of course I did. If I didn’t, you would have needed to fight her for a place to lie in wait for me here.» It was vaguely irritating that Hanzo hadn’t considered that’s where he was the entire time his brother had been waiting here.

«Well, forgive me for _not trusting_ you where your welfare is concerned after what you did on the mission.»

« _You’re_ one to talk about—» Genji sucked in a sharp breath that would never sound sharp with the speech assistance embedded in his throat. He forced his shoulders to drop and he took a step back. He had swallowed the words before they could be spoken, but from the expression on his brother’s face, Hanzo knew what he had been about to say.

Eight minutes and twenty four seconds followed, filled only by the faint hum of Genji’s cybernetics as they ran through a conversation so familiar it was now held in silence instead of Japanese.

_I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken in anger._

_Your assessment is not unfounded._

_Can’t we have a normal argument like normal siblings without it being fraught with meaning? Can’t I just say something when I’m angry or frustrated, without dragging up that night ten years ago?_

_I’m sorry I am not strong enough to let it go, you deserve something better than this, better than me. You are entitled to feel angry and bitter. You are entitled to loathe me._

_I’m tired of feeling that. It’s poison and I want to let it go. I_ have _let it go. Please stop making everything about us about that night._

_I am unworthy of your forgiveness, as I am unworthy of redemption..._

« _Brother_ ,» Genji finally said aloud, cutting off their circular, inferred conversation. «Please, it’s been a long trip back. I’m tired. Angela did recommend I get some rest. I apologize for making you worry and for disobeying your command on the field. I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.»

«I will speak to Winston about possible disciplinary action. Perhaps it’s best if we do not make this… personal.» Again Hanzo avoided looking at Genji’s face. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a strange peace offering, but Genji was ecstatic. Or maybe that was just exhaustion kicking in, but at least for one night it seemed Hanzo was willing to put the past to one side.

Not for the first time, Genji reminded himself that he had spent the past decade moving past what happened, while Hanzo had seen it as a closed chapter. That didn’t mean the path to forgiveness wasn’t just as exhausting a second time. Nor could he force his brother to the end of that road. All he could do was walk beside him.

«Of course,» Genji gave a slight bow of acknowledgement. «That seems only right.»

«I will go and let you get your rest now,» Hanzo lingered awkwardly near the door for a moment. «I am… relieved you were able to recover.»

«Brother,» Hanzo moved towards the door. «Athena, hold the door for ten seconds please.»

<Acknowledged>

Hanzo turned on the other side of the door, brow raised in question.

Genji let one beat of silence pass between them.

«Say hello to _Jesse_ for me.»

The door sealed shut, leaving the perfect snapshot of indignation in Genji's mind—and the retinal feed of his optics.  

\----

Hanzo hadn’t decided what he was going to say.

He’d hoped to think of something on the way, but his feet seemed to carry him faster than his thoughts.

_I should have asked Genji for help._

_That_ frantic notion proved more than anything how desperate Hanzo was. He could already hear his brother's mocking voice. ‘ _I promised Jesse that I wouldn't help!’_

The telltale odor of smoke warned Hanzo that his time was up before he so much as laid eyes on McCree.

_‘This is about the only place on base where I can smoke and Athena can’t rat me out to Angie.’_

It was a tiny little outcropping of Gibraltar's impressive cliffs, with a flimsy railing the only thing preventing a man tumbling to his death into the ocean below. Athena’s abilities to read their biometrics were a little more limited here. Jesse also used his body to block the motions of his smoking from the cameras, though the amount of time Jesse spent here was enough to let the AI know that he was smoking. Hanzo suspected that it was a truce to keep the man's foul habit confined to one area, even if Athena didn't have any ‘conclusive’ proof.

A short distance back, a scarcely used watchtower yawned into the black sky above, minimal light cast from the walls. The archer hugged the wall, and just observed the cowboy leaning against the railing.

Hanzo frowned a bit. There were at least two cigarello butts on the ground, and he could see a third one lit, half-spent, and smoking between McCree’s teeth. As terrible as it was for the man's health, there was something hypnotic in watching Jesse breathe out smoke. A slow, steady rhythm he'd gotten used to on nights like this, drinking and chatting with the other man. Hanzo stayed just out of sight, watching Jesse's back and the lift of his hand, the drag of breath inwards, and the rise of white smoke against the night air.

“How long you gonna sulk there in the shadows?” McCree didn't turn back as he asked the question, so Hanzo didn't mask his surprise.

He'd been silent as he approached, he knew that. He also knew that he was capable of startling McCree more often than not, despite the other man having a keen situational awareness.

“Impressive, even for you.” Hanzo stepped out from the corner he'd tucked himself against neatly and crossed the threshold from concrete to patchy grass, until he was standing next to McCree. He saw two more fresh cigarillo stubs that he hadn’t detected before.

“I’ve just been calling that out at regular intervals every twenty minutes,” McCree shot Hanzo a sly grin over his shoulder as he flicked some ash out over the railing into the sea, hundreds of meters blow.

The friendly lie was enough to get a quiet chuckle from Hanzo, “Indeed?” His smile fell in an instant. “Genji told you.”

“You can’t just let me look cool? Alright, a’right. Guilty as charged,” Jesse shrugged. “I did ask him t’send you my way, and he let me know you were coming.”

“Hmph, and had he been mistaken in my intentions?” Hanzo wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be difficult, it didn’t help anything. He crossed his arms, sulking petulantly. He didn’t even _want_ to be difficult, but something in him _chafed_ at being read, being… _led_ … it was too much like manipulation. The price he had paid to be his own master was too high to allow that to happen again—even though, logically, he knew no one was pulling any strings.

Jesse shrugged again, taking a drag on his cigarillo, “I’ve been patient this long, haven’t I? Been a real nice dance we got going, so far.”

Hanzo knew Jesse well enough to know his falsehoods, his half-truths, his lies by omission. Yet he wasn’t troubled by the attempt at duplicity. He felt the tension in his spine uncoil slightly. “Only patient?” A smile ever so briefly tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t know if McCree had seen it or not.

“Alright. Scared too,” Hanzo swallowed thickly as McCree passed his half-spent cigarillo from hand to hand for a moment. He heard, more than saw McCree suck in a breath to speak, but no words came out for several heartbeats. Hesitation. Not deliberation. “I ain’t the only one who’s been scared though, right partner?”

Hanzo uncrossed his arms, and gripped the railing as though he hoped to crush it beneath his fingers. He looked out at the sea. At night it was dark, only the barest traces of purple to the inky blackness and scattered veins of white where the moon touched the very tops of the waves. Hanzo realized that McCree was unnaturally silent and still next to him. The man was holding his breath.

“That is,” Hanzo wet his lips. It felt like his throat was trying to close around the words he was trying to force out. The coils of some unseen, serpentine body choking his words before they could be spoken. _Scared._ Was that was this was? Was that the word? No.

This was terror.

Hanzo cleared his throat and tried again, clutching the railing so hard his knuckles were white. As if he could physically subdue the unseen force that held his words hostage. “I suppose that is not… inaccurate,” Hanzo let out a shudder of a breath, suddenly feeling winded. He finally heard Jesse let out a long, slow, shaky breath of his own.

Still looking resolutely at the sea, Hanzo saw the hand made of flesh and bone lift the cigarillo. He saw that it was shaking. He heard the draw of breath, the pull of embers on leaf and paper, and the overwhelming aroma of smoke filled the air a moment later.

“Chicken shit and chicken legs,” Jesse let out a nervous chuckle. Hanzo didn’t feel remotely relieved.

“What now?” His hands twisted along the metal railing.

“Well, now that I got us both riled up and tongue-tied… we talk?” McCree let out another short, nervous laugh. “God damn, I’m too old fer this. Now I know what Annie Oakley meant when she said, ‘You can’t get a man with a gun.’” Another nervous puff of a vanishingly small cigarillo.

“What? _Who?_ ” Hanzo felt vaguely irritated now, having no context for McCree’s reference.

“All I mean is… You and me ain’t good at dealing with our problems up close,“ McCree mimed firing off a shot with an invisible Peacekeeper, recoil and all. Hanzo suppressed a shiver as he remembered ten bodies dropping from six bullets. The hairs on his arm stood on end, and not from the chill wind off the ocean. “I get it. I mean, if I could shoot my feelings and truss ‘em up like a hunting trophy, might be easier to talk about ‘em. But, that ain’t how it works. Right? So I’ll go first.” McCree cleared his throat.

There was a long pause, filled only by the wind and ocean.

“Well?” Hanzo finally prompted, unable to bear the weight of the silence any longer.

“This was a lot easier when I was hopped up on adrenaline and thinkin’ we both might die. Uh, shoot. Can you maybe look at me? I’m gettin’ all nervous that you’re not lookin’ at me.”

Hanzo slowly turned to face McCree, one hand still clutching the railing, and even more slowly lifted his gaze to look at Jesee’s face. Even in the dim light, Hanzo still felt like he was looking at the sun. This weathered man, with hope and fear in his gaze was too much to bear, too bright and intense to look at.

“...Ah shit, I think that might be worse, fuck. C-can you, uh, not look at me instead?” Jesse let out another laugh, this one pitched a bit higher, rubbing the back of his neck. Irritation roiled through Hanzo like a bolt from the blue.

 _“Jesse!”_ McCree’s eyes were wide and stunned, his jaw going slack and agape. Hanzo felt his irritation build further at the man’s reaction, unsure why he was so _angry_ at the other’s surprise. Then he realized, and clapped a hand over his mouth.

He’d done it again.

Twice in one night.

Slowly, Hanzo lowered his hand, and he leveled his best glare at McCree. It was slightly less impressive given their height difference, and right now he begrudged every single one of those twelve centimeters the cowboy had over him. “You wanted this conversation, Jesse McCree. Do me the courtesy of _actually_ _having_ it.”

“Right,” McCree cleared his throat. “Think I like you just using my first name better, though. Alright. Han… it ain’t no secret. I like ya. I hope you figured that out by now, at least. And… I wish saying that out loud didn’t make me feel so damn scared, but, fuck, I dunno if I’ve ever felt something this big before.” Jesse paused to draw in another smoke filled breath, “And I realized out there on the field I don’t want you or me kicking the bucket and thinkin’ _‘Look at all that wasted time_ ’ someday. So, I guess I'm ready to quit lollygaggin’ is what I'm trying t’say.” McCree’s expression was serious, and he didn’t break eye contact as he brushed his thumb along the end of the cigarillo—so small now he brushed his own knuckles—flicking more ash over the railing in the silence that followed.

Hanzo breathed in, but it felt more like the air violently entered his lungs without his consent. He turned and looked back out at the black ocean waters again.

A deep void that devoured light.

“Perhaps your instincts are sound,” he finally settled on. “Perhaps you should be afraid of me.”

“C’mon Hanzo, I ain’t scared _of_ you. I trust you. It’s just my tiny shrivelled heart I’m a little worried over, that’s all.” Hanzo heard the pull and quick exhale of more smoke. “But I trust you with that too. If you want it.”

Hanzo bit his lower lip before speaking through that coiled serpent once more. A weight wrapped around his throat and chest. “You truly are a fool. You say you trust me? I do not trust _myself._ Look at what I did to… to my own flesh and blood! What harm could I inflict on you?” Hanzo could not _believe_ that McCree would be so _careless_ as to offer someone like _him_ his heart.

It made him angry.

Somehow, Hanzo could hear Jesse’s frown. “Darlin’ that’s life. No one gets out without hurting anyone. I’ll hurt you sometime. That's a promise. What matters is how you deal with it, and you don’t gotta keep dealing with it the same way you have in the past.”

“You say that like the past is a thing so easily shed,” Hanzo resumed his death grip on the railing once more. “I am not a serpent that can simply drop its old skin and be born anew. My past is… here. Present. Every time I see my brother, there it is. And I am forced to wonder, if my actions were misguided then, have they been misguided in the years that followed? What forgiveness could possibly make up for what I have done? What value do I hold, but as a weapon?” That was one thing he could do well. Sometimes, it felt like the only thing.

“You ain't the only one with sin on his hands here, Han. I ain't always worn the white hat,” McCree dropped the cigarillo butt, and ground it under his heel as though trying to eradicate it.

“You have worn your white hat precisely four times since I've been here,” Hanzo crossed his arms as Jesse gave him a rueful smile, tipping the brim of his decidedly not-white hat back as he rubbed his forehead.

“Just an expression. Means I ain't always been so good.” There was the barest pause before McCree spoke again. “I _liked_ the things I did when I was in Deadlock. Felt good to a stupid, scrawny, no good, dumbfuck kid like me.” McCree spat the words out viciously with a bitterness Hanzo could taste on his own tongue. Something pulled at his chest, hearing that self-directed hatred. Like Jesse still _believed_ all those things were true about him. Despite being twenty years older. Hanzo's arm twitched with a startling urge to lay it around the man’s shoulders. He wanted to console Jesse, but it had been so long since he'd offered physical comfort to someone he didn't trust the instinct.

“Making others feel small has a way of making a man with nothing feel big. I felt like I was on top of the world whenever we got a big score, whenever I hurt someone else, cause it meant they weren't hurting me. I didn't join Overwatch out of nobility. I did it for self-perseveration. I was seventeen and stupid, looking at life in prison—however long that would turn out to be.” McCree cast his eyes to the ground, “Redemption was the furthest thing from my mind in those days. Kept thinking about escaping when I had half a chance. Hell, I tried ‘bout half a dozen times. Never got far before… I was dragged back. I ain't always been this man, Hanzo. I don't know how my past weighs against trying to kill yer own brother, I'm not the one to judge. That's up to someone else, if he exists. All I'm trying to say is… you don't gotta stay the same man you used to be.”

“You were a _child_ ,” Hanzo pointed out, his throat felt like it was coated in sawdust. McCree went very still, looking out at the dark horizon. “You didn't have a _choice_ ,”

Jesse's voice was low and sharp, like the knife hidden in his boot, “And you did?”

Hanzo made a noise, struggling to articulate his thoughts on why McCree was worthy of redemption and he was not. Why McCree shouldn't have anything in common with someone like him; when Jesse was filled with such goodness and light and he was only a man-shaped void.

“... One always has a choice,” Hanzo settled on finally, his heart caged by the talons of some terrible beast.

Jesse nodded in assent, finally looking his way again, “There you have it. If you had a choice, then so did I. Anyways, there it is. The good, bad, and the ugly. All out in the open.” The cowboy was close again, still looking out over the ocean, shoulder just barely brushing Hanzo's.

“McCree.” Hanzo swallowed thickly, his voice hitching on the man’s name, “Jesse.”

Hanzo swallowed again as he felt McCree’s body tremor through his shoulder. He caught McCree's closed eyes as his head dropped, from the corner of his eyes.

“You said a man's always got a choice right, Han?”

Jesse’s voice was made of all the smoke he’d breathed in waiting for Hanzo to arrive. Smoke that curled heat into the pit of his stomach.

Hanzo nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Let me give you a choice right now,” Hanzo heard a shift, felt Jesse half-turn towards him, and suddenly the man’s hand was in his field of vision. Not the one he had offered before. His real hand, made of flesh and bone. Of human frailty. Hanzo studied the callouses on Jesse’s palms and fingers, the areas built up from holding guns and weapons.

Hanzo slowly lifted his eyes to catch a glimpse of the other man’s face.

There was such open longing there, and hope, and it was too dim to make out, but he thought there might be the glimmer of unshed tears.

“A choice?” Hanzo repeated softly, not taking his eyes away.

McCree nodded, his face drawn and taut.

By feel, still looking at McCree’s face, Hanzo reached out with his hand. The same hand that Jesse was offering, on the arm that didn’t wear a sleeve beneath his jacket. Slowly, Hanzo closed his fingers around Jesse’s palm. To his surprise, the hand was still warm to the touch, despite how long Jesse had been standing out here. He felt the skeletal weight of McCree’s temporary arm on his back. It was so much lighter than the usual one, so insubstantial compared to the skull-adorned arm he usually wore. He felt McCree’s warmth slowly mould around him, chest pressing against Hanzo’s shoulder. He fought a shudder as he felt Jesse’s warm breath tickle his neck.

“Darlin’, you are the most incredible, brave, gorgeous man—”

“No,” Hanzo could not stand to hear words of praise or flattery. Not tonight. “Please do not. I’m not.. Whatever you are going to say Jesse McCree, I am not.”

Hanzo felt the other man’s hesitation, could feel the heat of him pull back slightly from his side. He felt McCree’s hold on his hand loosen, and Hanzo gripped it tighter. Relief flooded him as he felt Jesse slowly squeeze his fingers back. The cowboy closed the distance between them again, and spoke against the grey at his temple.

“You saying I ain’t ever allowed to pay you a compliment, darling? That’s a mighty tall order.”

“I didn’t say not _ever_ just… not now. Please, I do not feel… worthy,” Frankly he doubted that he would _ever_ feel worthy, but at another time it might not feel like physical pain to hear such words.

Jesse made a thoughtful noise that vibrated through his skull, “As long as it’s only _not now_ , I guess I can do that.” The cowboy was quiet a moment longer, just nuzzling against Hanzo’s cheek. Then, hesitantly, “Any chance of a kiss?”

It was so tender and genuine, Hanzo couldn’t help but smile as he turned to face McCree.

“No.”

“What!?”

“You have been _smoking_ , your breath reeks of it. Absolutely not.” It certainly wasn’t for lack of _wanting_ to on Hanzo’s part. It wasn’t _his_ fault that McCree had made himself undesirable. The man had other vices he could have indulged instead.

“Darlin’ you are gonna be the death of me. My poor heart. What about just on the cheek?”

“I will remind you, _Jesse_ , that I was trained in many martial art styles as a child, including Judo. Throwing you over this railing would be trivial.”

“Hmph, promises, promises,” and with that Jesse lifted Hanzo’s hand to his mouth and brushed a dainty kiss to the back of his knuckles. An unfamiliar sensation bubbled up Hanzo’s throat, and he bit the inside of his lip to hold in sudden laughter.

“Hmm, that was… tolerable enough. I suppose you _may_ kiss me on the cheek.” That strange, bubbly feeling in his chest doubled as Jesse bent down to brush his lips over the crest of his cheekbone. This time Hanzo did laugh. The only sensation even remotely close to this that he recalled was consuming several bottles of expensive champagne with Genji when they were barely out of their teens. Even then, the effervescent sensation had definitely been rooted elsewhere in his body.

“Something tickling yer funny bone, darlin, or just yer fancy?” Hanzo snorted lightly, a smile still twisting his lips.

“If I understand your English properly, which I may not, it is neither of those things. It’s just... my chest feels like I’ve just had an entire bottle of Krug or Dom Perignon.” Hanzo chuckled again, unable to curb his laughter, and he rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed by his own reaction.

“That good, huh?” McCree pressed another kiss to Hanzo’s cheek, soft lips and bristling whiskers, before moving over to whisper in his ear again. “Imagine how good I’ll make you feel when you let me kiss you f’real.”

A soft, breathy laugh escaped Hanzo, but it stopped quickly as Jesse’s mouth pressed against his neck. A hot, searing kiss on the flutter of his pulse. Pure, concentrated sunlight against his skin.

Hanzo wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but he was suddenly aware of flannel clutched under one hand and McCree’s hand still in his, wedged between them. Jesse may have been taller than him, but the man looked breathless and completely at his mercy with Hanzo's thigh squeezed between his own.

“So confident,” Hanzo wet his lips, pleased that his voice was something resembling steady and commanding. “If you were to brush your teeth and perhaps drink some of that whiskey you favor, perhaps we could see if you are able to make good on your word. Perhaps.”

Jesse shuddered again and Hanzo felt a spark slowly roll up his spine, as if McCree had lit a fuse by clamping his legs down on Hanzo's thigh.

“I sure hope I live long enough t’make it back to my room,” Jesse placed a rather desperate kiss to Hanzo's knuckles before turning his hand over and pressing a kiss to the center of his palm.

Hanzo couldn't resist the urge to tease. “Your room? Who said anything about _your_ room?”

“Well that's where I'd find my whiskey and my toothbrush,” McCree sounded surprisingly patient given how frantically he was laying kisses along Hanzo's wrist, his whiskers prickling along the thin, uninked skin.

“We can certainly grab those things on the way, but you need to live long enough to make it to _my room_ , cowboy.”

The groan that Jesse pressed into his collarbone was the sweetest sound Hanzo had ever heard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone for their kind comments and support and coming back to read this thing after an absurdly long break in updates. I hope you have enjoyed this. Next chapter will be a brief epilogue. I also have a prequel in mind, as well as a satellite tale about Genji and Mercy back in the day and how they became exes. Will probably also post Hanzo and Jesse's first night as its own separate thing cause that feels right. I apologize in advance if the rest of the stuff in the Crooked Mile series seems wildly different in tone bc this literally started as a joke premise but ofc became something serious because I'm me lol.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which phone calls and booze are had by all. Odalis creates a sangria filled future for the watchpoint while running other errands.

As soon as Genji crawled into bed, he felt that irritating restlessness under his skin that meant sleep was far away.

He saw Angela when he closed his eyes.

Angela.

Not Dr. Ziegler.

The soft tap of carbon fiber filled his quarters as his ran his thumb along his fingertips.

 _Just because we have repaired our relationship does not mean we should pursue what we had. That is done._ He closed his eyes and focused on the beating of his heart.

The heart he had now because he rejected the one Angela had given him years ago.

Genji clenched his hand and placed it on his forehead, cool metal and fiber on skin.

He had come dangerously close to breaking a promise to himself.

“Athena?”

_ <Yes Genji? Do you require Dr. Ziegler’s attention?> _

He chuckled wryly, “No.” _That is the last thing I need right now_. “Can you… Would you please set up a secure line to Nepal?”

_ <Of course. One moment.> _

Genji nodded, despite the fact that Athena had no physical presence in the room.

 _“Does something trouble you, my student?”_ Genji exhaled, a tightness leaving his body as his master’s voice filled the room. Master and friend. Zenyatta would not let him falter.

“Yes. I… was injured during my last mission. I find myself… troubled. I worry about repeating mistakes of the past. I could use your guidance.” Genji found himself unable to divulge the full nature of his affliction over long-distance communication. “Could I ask you to return to Gibraltar?”

_“Of course. I would be most pleased to assist you with any recovery, whether in body or spirit.”_

A smile pulled at Genji’s scarred lips. “Thank you master. I feel relieved already.” A wave of giddy excitement washed over him, making Genji feel like a child for a moment.

_“Is there anything I can do for you now?”_

“If you would meditate with me, I would appreciate it. I am finding it difficult to sleep.”

_“Of course. I always appreciate the perspective meditating with you brings, my student.”_

The ragged scars on Genji’s lips held his smile aloft like ribbons at a festival. He closed his eyes and let Zenyatta’s voice wash over him.

\----

Lena couldn’t decide if she was delirious with happiness or aching to her bones with loneliness. Her cheeks were still sore from smiles, which meant a lot considering who she was.

Emily’s voice was a tether and a prayer. Tracer let her fingers slide over the empty space next to her on the Orca’s wing.

It took a surprising amount of willpower not to simply take off and fly across the ocean again. She certainly wasn’t feeling too tired for it.

Still, the ache of laughter in her belly seemed to be stronger than the hollow sensation in her chest and fingers that didn’t have a right to be this strong so soon.

A tear squeezed its way past her lashes, tracing her temple as it tracked downward, pulled by gravity.

This wasn’t hers alone. Not really.

She wouldn’t have this if it had been up to her, if she didn’t have help.

But it was nice to pretend that this was just hers, just theirs, for right now.

That some small piece of her belonged to somebody else and no one else.

\----

Jesse McCree had never looked more glorious than he did backlit and dimly silhouetted in his bathroom with the furious sound of bristles on teeth. A sudden bark of laughter became a peal as the cowboy slammed back some whiskey straight from the bottle, gargled, and then spat into the sink before loading up his toothbrush with paste again. Jesse coughed softly as he carefully squeezed the toothpaste, hindered by his unfamiliar hand.

“You are utterly ridiculous. That should not have been so surprising.”

“‘S how you know it’s real. Wouldn’t waste good whiskey like that on a lesser man,” Jesse’s words were slightly muffled with the toothbrush in his mouth, but ultimately understandable. Hanzo snorted softly, that strange sensation still rooted in his chest. Almost like prickling but so much more pleasant.

“I would lecture you on what makes for good whiskey, but I imagine it would fall on deaf ears, as usual.”

“Aw darlin’ I always love listening to you.” Jesse spat into the sink again. “Don’t mean yer always right, or that I gotta pay it any mind, but I’ll let you talk my ear off ‘bout anything you want.” McCree gargled another mouthful of whiskey and a grimace pulled across his face as he leaned over the sink to spit it out. His expression did not improve as he tipped the bottle back again and swallowed.

Hanzo was tempted to take a sip for courage.

McCree must have seen something in his expression, because the man tilted his head, dark eyes sizing Hanzo up and down.

“Getting second thoughts there darlin’? It's alright if you are.” Jesse brushed a knuckle under his lip, just the very tip of his tongue running nervously along the seam of his mouth.

For a moment, half a breath, time seemed to still.

Not too late to pull back.

He could simply walk away from all of this, pretend it had never happened.

_But surely that would be a waste of good whiskey._

Hanzo smiled and shook his head once, “No. Not now.” He crossed the distance and took the whiskey bottle from Jesse's hand. Hanzo took the barest sip, just enough to moisten his lips. He felt gooseflesh along his cheeks and down his arms. He set the bottle down and laced his fingers with Jesse's.

“But I would appreciate it if you would…put some lead into it.” The expression of surprise and then sly joy that crossed Jesse’s face told him he’d summoned the right idiom.

“Told you didn't I? I'm done lollygagging.”

Hanzo smirked and started pulling Jesse towards the door.

\----

Once Sombra had an appropriate disguise—one of her favorites, actually—it was simple enough to hop on her bike. An actual fucking bicycle, not even a hoverbike. Soldier 76 had said something about vehicles being easier to track, and thus their use of vehicles was limited on Gibraltar.

Morrison was so irritating when he was right.

It may not have been the reason he and Gabe had split up, but it was certainly easier to see the shape of things after being undercover for so long.

Sombra sighed and took a moment before flipping up the kickstand. She flicked the bangs of her pixie wig back and forth. So fun!

For a brief moment, she wondered if Dr. Vaswani liked this look on her at all. Sombra laughed at the thought of Satya doing something so unsophisticated and childish as flicking her bangs back and forth. She kicked up the kickstand and started working the pedals. At least the first part was downhill.

Sombra would die before she ever revealed to the rest of Talon that she had never ridden a bicycle before this undercover mission.

She would have to purge Dr. Ziegler’s records when this was over to make sure that no one ever found out about her awful wipeouts. At least she had managed to destroy Hana’s recording of her most _epic_ wipeout. Along with any data of value on her phone.

Ms. Song respected Odalis a lot more after that incident.

What would have been a ten minute ride on a hoverbike was roughly twenty minutes on bike. It’d be a little harder on the way back, going uphill to the watchpoint.

At least she had a moment to herself.

She should have tried to transmit something when Ishtar made contact, but in the moment she thought it was too risky. She was _still_ feeling out Athena’s abilities.

She was shocked that her stunt with breaking into Tracer’s room had worked, but away from the base Sombra was starting to wonder if Athena was lying. Maybe she did know that Sombra had trespassed. There was nothing that said a God AI couldn’t lie.

It was a thrilling and invigorating game she was playing against Athena, but it was also tedious. Reaper hadn’t warned her about the boredom that came with working undercover.

Sombra biked her way up Europa Road until she was on Line Wall Road. Gibraltar was mostly asleep so the only obstacles she needed to navigate around were the cars lining the narrow, claustrophobic streets and a stray cat. The buildings ran together in long, consolidated structures, the occasional door or window breaking the blue and tan concrete. Her destination was on the corner of an intersection, getting closer to what passed as downtown.

There weren’t many stores that were open this late at night, and this was the only one in Gibraltar that also sold liquor. Unless you wanted to cross the border into Spain proper, but that was too much hassle, and 4 kilometers was already a fucking expedition just for a booze run. Back when she was running with Los Muertos in Dorado, booze was never more than a five minute walk, and Talon usually set up shop in similarly civilized places.

Sombra chuckled as she imagined Morrison having a complete meltdown at a drone-powered booze delivery service arriving on base.

Fuck, she might have to do that sometime. With Overwatch or with Talon. Maybe when she finally jumped ship, she could do it as a farewell.

Being a British Territory, there was plenty of shitty mass produced beer for sale. Despite her warning, Sombra did pick up a six pack of Tennent’s.

She picked out a decent brandy and a large bottle of Spanish red. Something adjacent to local from the Levante region and made of Monastrell grapes that claimed to have plum and blackberry flavors. There was Italian Bonarda, but it was pricier and Sombra would have just spent the whole time wishing it came from Argentina instead. There was plenty of fruit and sweetner back on base, so all they needed was booze. Sombra brought her purchases up front.

“Lager and sangria? Interesting combination.” The owner and cashier was an older, heavyset man. He had a half-buttoned sleeveless, tropical shirt on with his sweaty undershirt on display. He always made Sombra think of the upper half of a nesting doll, since she never saw the lower half of him hidden behind the counter.

“There’s no accounting for some people’s taste, right?”

The man grunted, and frowned at his terminal. “Sorry, gonna be a bit. Fuckin’ thing has been acting up all week.”

“Computer troubles?”

“Yeah. Spent ‘bout eight hours on the phone over the past two days I swear. Didn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

“Mind if I take a look? I’m really good with computers.” Sombra flashed him a winning smile. He had an expression on his face which said he wanted his problem to go away, but he wasn’t certain if he could trust his livelihood to someone he only ever saw in the context of liquor runs. “It can’t get worse, right? I promise I know what I’m doing. Pinky swear!” Sombra held up her pinky, but the man declined the offer.

Instead, he grunted, and moved to one side, gesturing for Sombra to come around the counter.

_Socks with sandals. Of course. Morrison would be so proud of this fucking table._

Sombra backed out to the desktop. She made a show of searching around on the computer. The briefest glimmer of purple light flickered down her thumb, but her audience didn’t comment, so Sombra figured she was in the clear. “Ah-ha see this update from the developer? Slowing down your system. Bloatware my friend. It’ll get you every time. Let me just get rid of this for you.” Sombra pressed the icon on the screen.

While she pulled down the menu for the program, a coded, encrypted missive travelled from Gibraltar to a private server. She would trust Maxi to forward the message. In a few moments, the program was gone, and the terminal was back in working order.

Sombra smiled, and didn’t reject the effusive praise or thanks from the store manager.

She certainly wasn’t going to reject the 20% discount he offered her either.

“Catch you later, dude.”

Sombra placed the booze into the crate on her bike. At least Overwatch had the good grace to have a carrying rack on the rear of the bicycle, rather than a basket at the front like some fucking child or grandmother.

Sombra kicked the stand back up and started pedaling back to the watchpoint.

Her message was opened before she reached the end of Line Wall Road.

_[Overwatch readying to move to Baotu. Negotiating with UN. Meet you there. Can’t wait to see Ishtar in the flesh. Have a safe connection now. Chat soon.]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this one! Holy shit it's been a moment since I finished a story. I'm gonna keep this momentum going as long as I can. Already working on that other stuff for Crooked Mile, but I'm glad to have this one on the books now. Hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
